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18 So doth the deep and wide sea, wherein are
Innumerable creeping things, both small
The comely, spacious whale.
19 These all upon thee wait, that thou mayst feed
Them in due season: what thou giv'st they take; Thy bounteous open hand helps them at need,
And plenteous meals they make.
20 When thou dost hide thy face, (thy face which keeps
All things in being,) they consume and mourn: When thou withdraw'st their breath their vigour
And they to dust return. (sleeps,
21 Thou send'st thy Spirit forth, and they revive,
The frozen earth's dead face thou dost renew. Thus thou thy glory through the world dost drive,
And to thy works art true.
22 Thine eyes behold the earth, and the whole stage
Is moved and trembles, the hills melt and smoke With thy least touch; lightnings and winds that rage
At thy rebuke are broke.
23 Therefore as long as thou wilt give me breath
I will in songs to thy great name employ
Thou shalt be all my joy.
24 I'll spice my thoughts with thee, and from thy word
Gather true comforts; but the wicked liver
i Sure thou didst flourish once! and many springs,
Many bright mornings, much dew, many showers Passed o'er thy head; many light hearts and wings,
Which now are dead, lodged in thy living bowers. 2 And still a new succession sings and flies;
Fresh groves grow up, and their green branches Towards the old and still-enduring skies, [shoot
While the low violet thrives at their root.
3 But thou, beneath the sad and heavy line
Of death, doth waste all senseless, cold, and dark; Where not so much as dreams of light may shine,
Nor any thought of greenness, leaf, or bark.
4 And yet, as if some deep hate and dissent,
Bred in thy growth betwixt high winds and thee, Were still alive, thou dost great storms resent,
Before they come, and know’st how near they be. 5 Else all at rest thou liest, and the fierce breath
Of tempests can no more disturb thy ease; But this thy strange resentment after death
Means only those who broke in life thy peace. 6 So murdered man, when lovely life is done,
And his blood freezed, keeps in the centre still Some secret sense, which makes the dead blood run
At his approach that did the body kill. 7 And is there any murderer worse than sin ?
Or any storms more foul than a lewd life? ? Or what resentient can work more within
Than true remorse, when with past sins at strife?
8 He that hath left life’s vain joys and vain care,
And truly hates to be detained on earth,
And keeps his soul unto eternal mirth.
9 But though thus dead unto the world, and ceased
From sin, he walks a narrow, private way;
And all his life a rainy, weeping day.
10 For though he should forsake the world, and live
As mere a stranger as men long since dead;
To think he should be so long vainly led.
11 But as shades set off light, so tears and grief,
Though of themselves but a sad blubbered story, By showing the sin great, show the relief
Far greater, and so speak my Saviour's glory. 12 If my way lies through deserts and wild woods,
Where all the land with scorching heat is cursed; Better the pools should flow with rain and floods
To fill my bottle, than I die with thirst.
13 Blest showers they are, and streams sent from above;
Begetting virgins where they use to flow;
Than upper springs, and none else make them grow.
14 But these chaste fountains flow not till we die.
Some drops may fall before; but a clear spring
And ever running, till we leave to fling
He that is dead is freed from sin.'-Rom. vi. 7.
When the fair year
Of your Deliverer comes, ,
Shall yet to man appear,
When the bright Dove,
Hath kept above,
Shall with spread wings
Oh, then, that I
Scattered each where;
And sure it is not far! For as your fast and foul decays, Forerunning the bright morning star, Did sadly note his healing rays Would shine elsewhere, since you were blind, And would be cross, when God was kind,
3 So by all signs
Our fulness too is now come in;
To rise on you again, and look
Towards old Mamre and Eshcol's brook.
For surely he
4 Faith sojourned first on earth in you,
You were the dear and chosen stock:
5 You were the eldest child, and when
Your stony hearts despised love,
youngest, even the Gentiles, then,
Were cheered your jealousy to move. 6 Thus, righteous Father! dost thou deal
With brutish men; thy gifts go round
The lost son by the newly found.
PALM-SUNDAY. 1 Come, drop your branches, strew the way,
Plants of the day! Whom sufferings make most green and gay. The King of grief, the Man of sorrow, Weeping still like the wet morrow, Your shades and freshness comes to borrow.
2 Put on, put on your best array;
Let the joyed road make holyday,