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But these she loves; and noisier life than
this She would find ill to bear, weak as she is. She has her children too, and night and day Is with them; and the wide heaths where
they play, The hollies, and the cliff, and the sea-shore, Thesand, the sea-birds, and the distant sails, These are to her dear as to them; the tales With which this day the children she be
guiled She gleaned from Breton grandames when
a child In every hut along this sea-coast wild. She herself loves them, and, when they are
told, Can forget all to hear them, as of old.
No; we may suffer deeply, yet retain Power to be moved and soothed, for all
our pain, By what of old pleased us, and will again. No 'tis the gradual furnace of the world, In whose hot air our spirits are upcurled Until they crumble, or else grow like steelWhich kills in us the bloom, the youth,
the springWhich leaves the fierce necessity to feel, But takes away the power--this can avail, By drying up our joy in everything, To make our former pleasures all seem
stale. This, or some tyrannous single thought,
some fit Of passion, which subdues our souls to it, Till for its sake alone we live and moveCall it ambition, or remorse, or loveThis too can change us wholly, and make
seem All that we did before shadow and dream.
Dear saints ! it is not sorrow, as I hear, Not suffering, that shuts up eye and ear To all which has delighted them before, And lets us be what we were once no more.
FRUITLESS FEARS. NEEDLESS fear did never vantage none, And helpless hap it booteth not to moan.
. Waive or leave. + Spirit, soul.
It is not but the tempest that doth show The seaman's cunning; but the field that tries
When we have wandered all our ways,
The captain's courage ; and we come to
know Best what men are in their worst jeo
pardies : For lo how many have we seen to grow
To high renown from lowest miseries, Out of the hands of death, and many a one T' have been undone, had they not been undone.
[knows He that endures for what his conscience
Not to be ill, doth from a patience high Look only on the cause whereto he owes
Those sufferings, -not on his miseries. The more he endures, the more his glory
grows, Which never grows from imbecility. Only the best composed and worthiest hearts
[parts. God sets to act the hardest constantest
SIR NICHOLAS BRETON.
THE PRAISE OF HUMILITY.
Oh, the sweet sense of Love's humility
Which fears displeasure in a dearest The only note of true nobility, [friend; Whose worthy grace is graced without end;
(approved, While faithful love, in humble truth Doth ever live of God and man beloved..
-CLEAR-EYED Astrea Comes with her balance and her sword, to show
(strikes. That first her judgment weighs before it
SIR WALTER RALEIGH.
PASSIONS are likened best to floods and
streams : The shallow murmur, but the deep are
dumb. So, when affections yield discourse, it seems The bottom is but shallow whence they
come, They that are rich in words must needs
discover They are but poor in that which makes a
Her grace is gracious in the sight of God, Makes men as saints and women angels
seem, Makes sin forgotten, Mercy use no rod, And constant faith to grow in great
esteem, And is, in sum, a blessing of the Highest, And to the nature of Himself the nighest. It maketh beauty like the sun to shine,
As if on earth there were a heavenly light, It maketh wit in wisdom so divine,
As if the eye had a celestial sight; It is a guide unto that heaven of rest. Where blessed souls do live for ever blest.
* It is the death of pride, and patience' love,
Passion's physician, reason's counsellor, Religion's darling, labour's turtle dove,
Learning's instructor, grace's register, Time's best attendant, and truth's best
explainer, Virtue's best lover, and love's truest gainer. It is the prince's grace, the subject's duty,
The scholar's lesson, and the soldier's line, The courtier's credit, and the lady's beauty,
The lawyer's virtue, and the love divine That makes all senses gracious in His sight, Where all true graces have their glorious
light. It makes the heart fit for all good impression,
It doth prepare the spirit for perfection, It brings the soul unto her sin's confession,
It helps to clear the body from infection,
THE NIGHT BEFORE HIS DEATH,
EVEN such is Time, that takes on trust
Our youth, our joys, our all we have, And pays us but with age and dust;
Who in the dark and silent grave,
It is the means to bring the mind to rest, Where heart, soul, mind, and all are truly
With easy breath till it be waved higher; But if they chance but roughly once aspire, The painted bubble instantly doth fall. Here when he came, she 'gan for music
call, And sung this wooing song, to welcome
him withal :
It ever holds the hand of faithfulness,
And ever keeps the mind of godliness, And ever brings the heart to quietness,
And ever leads the soul to happiness, And is a virtue of that blessedness That merits praise in highest worthiness. Oh, how it gains the child the parent's love! The wife
her husband's, and the servants master's, Where humble faith in happy hopes behove, Finds patience, care discomforts, healing
plasters, And truest course of care's tranquillity, Only to rest but in humility.
Only bend thy knee to me,
PANGLORY. From “Our Saviour's Temptation." High over all Panglory's blazing throne, In her bright turret, all of crystal wrought, Like Phoebus' lamp in midst of heaven
shone: Whose starry top, with pride infernal
fraught, Self - arching columns to uphold were
taught, In which her image still reflected was By the smooth crystal, that most like
her glass, In beauty and in frailty did all others pass. A silver wand the sorceress did sway, And, for a crown of gold, her hair she wore; Only a garland of rose-buds did play About her locks; and in her hand she bore A hollow globe of glass, that long before
She full of emptiness had bladderėd,
And all the world therein depictured, Whose colours, like the rainbow, ever
“See, see the flowers that, below,
Now as fresh as morning blow;
Only bend thy knee to me,
1588-1667. ON POESY.
This black den which rocks emboss,
AND though for her sake I am crost,
* In spite of: Fr. Maugré.
SWEET Day, so cool, so calm, so bright,
For thou must die.
Sweet Rose, whose hue, angry and brave,
And thou must die.
Sweet Spring, full of sweet days and roses,
And all must die.
Only a sweet and virtuous soul,
Then chiefly lives.
HARK, how the birds do sing,
And woods do ring! [his. All creatures have their joy, and man hath
Yet if we rightly measure,
Man's joy and pleasure Rather hereafter than in present is.