Have I no harvest, but a thorn

To let me blood; and not restore

What I have lost, with cordial fruit?

Sure, there was wine,

Before my sighs did dry it: there was corn,

Before my tears did drown it.

Is the year only lost to me?

Have I no bays to crown it?

No flowers, no garlands gay? all blasted?

All wasted?

Not so, my heart! but there is fruit;

Recover all thy

On double pleasures.

And thou hast hands.

sigh-blown age

Leave thy cold dispute

Of what is fit, and not. Forsake thy cage,

Thy rope of sands,

Which pretty thoughts have made, and made to thee Good cable, to enforce, and draw,

And be thy law

While thou didst wink, and wouldst not see.

Away! take heed!

I will abroad.

Call in thy death's head there. Tie up thy fears.
He that forbears

To suit and serve his need,

Deserves his load."

But, as I raved, and grew more fierce and wild
At every word,

Methought I heard one calling, "Child!"
And I replied, "My Lord!"

The Glimpse.

WHITHER away, Delight?

Thou cam'st but now; wilt thou so soon depart,
And give me up to night?

For many weeks of lingering pain and smart,
But one half-hour of comfort for my heart?

Methinks Delight should have

More skill in music, and keep better time.
Wert thou a wind, or wave,

They quickly go and come with lesser crime.
Flowers look about, and die not in their prime.

Thy short abode and stay

Feeds not, but adds to the desire of meat.
Lime begged, of old, they say,

A neighbor spring to cool his inward heat;
Which, by the spring's access, grew much more great.

In hope of thee, my heart

Picked here and there a crumb, and would not die :
But, constant to his part,

When as my fears foretold this, did reply,
"A slender thread a gentle guest will tie."

Yet, if the heart that wept

Must let thee go, return when it doth knock.
Although thy heap be kept

For future times, the droppings of the stock
May oft break forth, and never break the lock.

If I have more to spin,

The wheel shall go, so that thy stay be short.
Thou know'st how grief and sin

Disturb the work. Oh, make me not their sport,
Who, by thy coming, may be made a court!

Assurance.

Oн, spiteful, bitter thought!
Bitterly spiteful thought! Couldst thou invent
So high a torture? Is such poison bought?
Doubtless, but in the way of punishment,

When wit contrives to meet with thee,-
No such rank poison can there be.

Thou saidst, but even now,

That all was not so fair as I conceived,
Betwixt my God and me; that I allow
And coin large hopes; but that I was deceived;
Either the league was broke, or near it;

And that I had great cause to fear it.

And what to this? What more

Could poison, if it had a tongue, express?
What is thy aim? Wouldst thou unlock the door
To cold despairs, and gnawing pensiveness?
Wouldst thou raise devils? I see, I know,
I writ thy purpose long ago.

But I will to my Father,

Who heard thee say it. "O most gracious Lord!
If all the hope and comfort, that I gather,
Were from myself, I had not half a word,

Not half a letter, to oppose

What is objected by my foes.

"But thou art my desert.

And in this league, which now my foes invade,
Thou art not only to perform thy part,

But also mine; as, when the league was made,
Thou didst at once thyself indite,

And hold my hand, while I did write.

"Wherefore, if thou canst fail,

Then can thy truth, and I. But, while rocks stand,
And rivers stir, thou canst not shrink, or quail.
Yea, when both rocks and all things shall disband,
Then shalt thou be my rock and tower,
And make their ruin praise thy power."

Now, foolish thought, go on,

Spin out thy thread; and make thereof a coat,
To hide thy shame. For thou hast cast a bone,
Which bounds on thee, and will not down thy throat.
What for itself love once began,

Now love and truth will end in man.

The Call.

COME, my Way, my Truth, my Life!

Such a Way, as gives us breath;

Such a Truth, as ends all strife;

Such a Life, as killeth death.

Come, my Light, my Feast, my Strength!

Such a Light, as shews a feast;

Such a Feast, as mends in length;
Such a Strength, as makes his guest.

Come, my Joy, my Love, my Heart!
Such a Joy, as none can move;
Such a Love, as none can part;
Such a Heart, as joys in love.

Clasping of Hands.

LORD, thou art mine! and I am thine,
If mine I am; and thine, much more
Than I or ought or can be mine.
Yet, to be thine doth me restore;

So that again I now am mine.

And with advantage mine the more:
Since this being mine brings with it thine;
And thou, with me, dost thee restore.

If I without thee would be mine,
I neither should be mine nor thine.

Lord, I am thine; and thou art mine!
So mine thou art, that something more
I may presume thee mine, than thine.
For thou didst suffer to restore-
Not thee-but me; and to be mine:
And with advantage mine the more,
Since thou, in death, wast none of thine;
Yet then, as mine, didst me restore.

Oh, be mine still still make me thine!
Or, rather, make no thine and mine!