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he humble man heaves up his head. Like some rich vale Whose fruits ne'er faile, Vith flowers, with corne, and vines o'erspread;

Nor doth complaine

O'erflowed by an ill-season'd raine, Or battered by a storme of haile.

ike a tall ship with treasure fraught,
He, the seas cleere
Doth quiet steere :

But when they are to a tempest wrought;
More gallantly

This stream doth water paradise,
It makes the angels sing,

One cordial drop revives my heart,
Hence all my joys do spring.

Such joys as are unspeakable,
And full of glory too;
Such hidden manna, hidden pearls,

As worldlings do not know: Eye hath not seen, nor ear hath heard, From fancy 'tis conceal'd,

What thou Lord hast laid up for thine, And hast to me reveal'd.

He spreads his saile, and doth more high I see thy face, I hear thy voice,

By swelling of the waves appeare.

For the Almighty joyes to force

The glorious tide

Of human pride

To the lowest ebbe, that o'er his course (Which rudely bore

Down what opposed it heretofore)

His feeblest enemies may stride.

But from his ill-thatcht roofe. He brings

The cottager

And doth preferre

Him to the adored state of kings:

He bids that hand

Which labour hath made rough and tann'd,

The all-commanding sceptre beare.

Let then the mighty cease to boast
Their boundless sway;
Since in their sea

Few sayle, but by some storme are lost.

Let them themselves,

Beware, for they are their own shelves: Man still himself hath cast away.

JOY.

ANON.

THERE is a stream which issues forth
From God's eternal throne,
And from the Lamb, a living stream,
Clear as the crystal stone!

I taste thy sweetest love;

My soul doth leap; but O, for wings,

The wings of Noah's dove!
Then should I flee far hence away,

Leaving this world of sin :

Then should my Lord put forth his hand, And kindly take me in.

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he sword unsheathed, yet will not sell the Shall echo through the realms above,

truth;

Who having power, has not the will to hurt; Who feels asham'd to be, or have a slave; Whom nought makes blush but sin, fears nought but God;

Who, finally, in strong integrity

Of soul, midst want, or riches, or disgrace, Uplifted, calmly sat, and heard the waves Of stormy folly breaking at his feet,

When time shall be no more.

PILGRIMAGE.

SIR WALTER RALEIGH.

GIVE me my scallop-shell of quiet, My staffe of faith to walk upon,

Now shrill with praise, now hoarse with foul My scrip of joye, (immortal diet!)

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