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3 Some nights I see you in the gladsome east,
Some others near the west, And when I cannot see, yet do
And beat about your endless line.
4 Silence and light and watchfulness with you
Attend and wind the clue;
Still either sleeps, or slips his span.
5 He gropes beneath here, and with restless care,
First makes, then hugs a snare;
But seldom doth make heaven his glass.
6 Music and mirth, if there be music here,
and tune his ear; These things are kin to him, and must be had;
Who kneels, or sighs a life, is mad.
7 Perhaps some nights he 'll watch with
peep When it were best to sleep; Dares know effects, and judge them long before,
When the herb he treads knows much, much more.
8 But seeks he your obedience, order, light,
Your calm and well-trained flight? Where, though the glory differ in each star,
Yet is there peace still and no war.
9 Since placed by him, who calls you by your names,
And fixed there all your flames, Without command you never acted ought,
And then you in your courses fought.
10 But here, commissioned by a black self-will,
The sons the father kill,
The wounds they give by crying zeal.
Where they for fashion look ;
Seem mild, but are known by their noise. 12 Thus by our lusts disordered into wars,
Our guides prove wandering stars,
What time we from our first love swerved.
13 Yet oh, for his sake who sits now by thee
All crowned with victory,
Be more and more in love with day!
In order, peace, and love;
Become an humble, holy nation!
Beauty and holiness;
· Where God is, all agree.'
Lord, bind me up, and let me lie
The wind, though gathered in thy fist,
, Those gusts might quarrel and grow
bold. As waters here, headlong and loose, The lower grounds still chase and choose, Where spreading all the way they seek And search out every hole and creek; So my spilt thoughts, winding from thee, Take the down-road to vanity, Where they all stray, and strive which shall Find out the first and steepest fall. I cheer their flow, giving supply To what's already grown too high, And having thus performed that part, Feed on those vomits of my heart. I break the fence my own hands made Then lay that trespass in the shade; Some fig-leaves still I do devise, As if thou hadst not ears nor eyes. Excess of friends, of words, and wine Take up my day, while thou dost shine All unregarded, and thy book Hath not so much as one poor look. If thou steal in amidst the mirth And kindly tell me, I am earth, I shut thee out, and let that slip; Such music spoils good fellowship. Thus wretched I and most unkind, Exclude my dear God from my mind, Exclude him thence, who of that cell Would make a court, should he there dwell. He
goes, he yields; and troubled sore His Holy Spirit grieves therefore;
The mighty God, the eternal King
• The age, the present times are not
Greater than those that gad abroad.'
I'd loose those knots thy hands did tie,
Such is man's life, and such is mine,
Oh, hear, my God! hear him, whose blood Speaks more and better for my good!