Oh, let me take thee at the bound,
Leaping with thee from seven to seven;
Till that we both, being tossed from earth,
Fly hand in hand to heaven!

Avarice.

MONEY, thou bane of bliss, and source of wo, Whence com'st thou, that thou art so fresh and fine? I know, thy parentage is base and low :

Man found thee, poor and dirty, in a mine.

Surely thou didst so little contribute

To this great kingdom, which thou now hast got; That he was fain, when thou wast destitute, To dig thee out of thy dark cave and grot.

Then, forcing thee, by fire he made thee bright.
Nay, thou hast get the face of man; for we
Have with our stamp and seal transferred our right;
Thou art the man, and man but dross to thee.

Man calleth thee his wealth, who made thee rich; And, while he digs out thee, falls in the ditch.

How well her name an ARMY doth present,
In whom the LORD OF HOSTS did pitch his tent.

To all Angels and Saints.

O glorious spirits, who, after all your bands, See the smooth face of God, without a frown, Or strict commands;

Where every one is king and hath his crown,— If not upon his head, yet in his hands:

Not out of envy, or maliciousness,
Do I forbear to crave your special aid.
I would address

My vows to thee most gladly, blessed maid,
And mother of my God, in my distress.

Thou art the holy mine, whence came the gold, The great restorative for all decay

In young and old.

Thou art the cabinet where the jewel lay.
Chiefly to thee would I my soul unfold.

But now,
alas! I dare not; for our King,
Whom we do all jointly adore and praise,
Bids no such thing:

And where his pleasure no injunction lays,
('Tis your own case,) ye never move a wing.

All worship is prerogative, and a flower
Of his rich crown, from whom lies no appeal
At the last hour.

Therefore we dare not from his garland steal,
To make a posy for inferior power.

Although, then, others court you; if ye know
What's done on earth, we shall not fare the worse,
Who do not so:

Since we are ever ready to disburse,
If any one our Master's hand can show.

Employment.

HE that is weary let him sit.
My soul would stir

And trade in courtesies and wit,
Quitting the fur

To cold complexions needing it.

Man is no star, but a quick coal
Of mortal fire:

Who blows it not, nor doth control
A faint desire,

Lets his own ashes choke his soul.

When th' elements did for place contest
With him whose will
Ordained the highest to be best,
The earth sat still,

And by the others is oppressed.

Life is a business; not good cheer:
Ever in wars.

The sun still shineth there or here;

Whereas the stars

Watch an advantage to appear.

Oh, that I were an orange tree,
That busy plant!

Then should I ever laden be,

And never want

Some fruit for him that dresseth me.

But we are still too young, or old;
The man is gone,

Before we do our wares unfold.

So we freeze on,

Until the grave increase our cold.

Denial.

WHEN my devotions could not pierce
Thy silent ears,

Then was my heart broken, as was my verse.
My breast was full of fears,
And disorder.

My bent thoughts, like a brittle bow,
Did fly asunder.

Each took his way; some would to pleasure go,
Some to the wars, and thunder

Of alarms.

"As good go any where," they say, "As to benumb

Both knees and heart, in crying night and day, Come, Come, my God! O come!

But no hearing."

Oh, that thou shouldst give dust a tongue,
To cry to thee,

And then not hear it crying! All day long
My heart was in my knee ;-
But no hearing.

Therefore my soul lay out of sight,
Untuned, unstrung.

My feeble spirit, unable to look right,
Like a nipt blossom, hung
Discontented.

Oh, cheer and tune my heartless breast;
Defer no time.

That so, thy favors granting my request,
They and my mind may chime,
And mend my rhyme.

Christmas.

ALL after pleasures as I rid one day,
My horse and I both tired, body and mind,
With full cry of affections quite astray,

I took up in the next inn I could find.

There, when I came, whom found I, but my dear--
My dearest Lord; expecting, till the grief
Of pleasures brought me to him; ready there,
To be all passengers' most sweet relief?

O thou, whose glorious, yet contracted light,
Wrapt in night's mantle, stole into a manger;