Clouds of affection from our younger eyes
Conceal that emptiness which age descries;
The soul's dark cottage, battered and decayed,
Lets in new light through chinks that time has made.

Stronger by weakness, wiser men become
As they draw near to their eternal home;
Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view,
That stand upon the threshold of the new.

ROBERT HERRICK.

Born 1594. Died 1674.

A THANKSGIVING TO God.

LORD, thou hast given me a cell,

Wherein to dwell;

A little house, whose humble roof
Is weather-proof;

Under the spars of which I lie

Both soft and dry;

Where thou, my chamber for to ward,
Hast set a guard

Of harmless thoughts, to watch and keep
Me, while I sleep.

Low is my porch, as is my fate;
Both void of state;

And yet the threshold of my door
Is worn by the poor,

Who thither come, and freely get

Good words, or meat.

Like as my parlour, so my hall

And kitchen's small.

A little buttery and therein
A little bin,

Which keeps my little loaf of bread
Unchipt, unflead.

Some brittle sticks of thorn or briar
Make me a fire,

Close by whose living coal I sit,
And glow like it.

Lord, I confess too, when I dine,
The pulse is thine,

And all those other bits that be

There placed by thee;

The worts, the purslain and the mess
Of water-cress,

Which of thy kindness thou hast sent;
And my content

Makes these and my beloved beet

To be more sweet.

'Tis thou that crown'st my glittering hearth With guiltless mirth,

And giv'st me wassail bowls to drink,
Spiced to the brink.

Lord, 'tis thy plenty-dropping hand
That soils my land,

And giv'st me for my bushel sown,
Twice ten for one;

Thou mak'st my teeming hen to lay
Her egg each day;

Besides my healthful ewes to bear

The twins each year;

The while the conduits of my kine
Run cream for wine:

All these and better thou dost send
Me to this end,—

That I should render, for my part,
A thankful heart;

Which, fired with incense, I resign.
As wholly thine;

-But the acceptance, that must be,
My Christ, by thee.

TO BLOSSOMS.

'AIR pledges of a fruitful tree,

FAIR

Why do ye fall so fast?

Your date is not so past,

But you may stay yet here awhile,
To blush and gently smile;
And go at last.

What, were ye born to be

An hour or half's delight;

And so to bid good-night?

'Twas pity Nature brought ye forth Merely to show your worth, And lose you quite.

But you are lovely leaves, where we
May read how soon things have

Their end, though ne'er so brave: And after they have shown their pride, Like you, a-while-they glide

Into the grave.

When flowing cups run swiftly round

With no allaying Thames,

Our careless heads with roses crowned, Our hearts with loyal flames;

When thirsty grief in wine we steep,

When healths and draughts go free,

Fishes that tipple in the deep

Know no such liberty.

When, like committed linnets, I
With shriller throat shall sing
The sweetness, mercy, majesty
And glories of my King;

When I shall voice aloud how good
He is, how great should be,
Enlarged winds that curl the flood
Know no such liberty.

Stone walls do not a prison make,
Nor iron bars a cage;
Minds innocent and quiet take
That for an hermitage :
If I have freedom in my love,
And in my soul am free,
Angels alone, that soar above,
Enjoy such liberty.

GOING TO THE WARS.

ELL me not, sweet, I am unkind,

TELL

That from the nunnery

Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind To wars and arms I fly.

True, a new mistress now I chase,
The first foe in the field,

And with a stronger faith embrace
A sword, a horse, a shield.

Yet this inconstancy is such
As you too shall adore-

I could not love thee, dear, so much,
Loved I not honour more.