WAKE, my soul! awake, mine eyes!
Awake, my drowsy faculties!
Awake, and see the new-born light
Spring from the darksome womb of
Look up, and see, the unwearied sun
Already has his race begun ;
The pretty lark is mounted high,
And sings her matins in the sky.
Arise, my soul! and thou, my voice,
In songs of early praise rejoice.
O great Creator! heavenly King!
Thy praises ever let me sing.
LEEP, downy sleep, come, close mine
Tired of beholding vanities;
Sweet slumbers, come, and chase away
The toils and follies of the day!
On your soft bosom will I lie,
Forget the world, and learn to die.
O Israel's watchful Shepherd, spread
Thine angel-tents around my bed:
Let not the spirits of the air,
While I slumber, me ensnare ;
But save Thy suppliant, free from harms,
Clasp'd in Thine everlasting arms.
Clouds and thick darkness are Thy throne,
Thy wonderful pavilion;
O dart from thence a shining ray,
And then my midnight shall be day.
Thus, when the morn, in crimson drest,
Visits the chambers of the east,
My hymns of thankful praise shall rise
Like incense, or the morning sacrifice.
T is no flaming lustre, made of light;
No sweet conceit, nor well-timed har-
Ambrosia, for to feast the appetite,
Of flowery odour, mixt with spicery; No soft embrace, or pleasure bodily: And yet it is a kind of inward feast,
A harmony that sounds within the breast,
An odour, light, embrace, in which the soul doth
A heavenly feast no hunger can consume;
A light unseen, yet shines in every place; A sound no time can steal; a sweet perfume No winds can scatter; an entire embrace That no satiety can e'er unlace,
Ingrac't into so high a favour, there
The saints, with all their peers, whole worlds out
And things unseen do see, and things unheard do
ISDOM'S a strain transcends morality;
No virtue's absent, wisdom being by:
Virtue by constant practice is acquired;
This, this (by sweat unpurchased) is
inspired.
The master-piece of knowledge is to know
But what is good from what is good in show:
And there it rests; wisdom proceeds, and chooses
The seeming evil, th' apparent good refuses.
Knowledge descries alone; wisdom applies:
That makes some fools; this maketh none but wise.
The curious hand of knowledge doth but pick
Bare simples; wisdom pounds them for the sick.
In mine afflictions, knowledge apprehends
Who is the author, what the cause, and ends;
It finds that patience is my sad relief,
And that the hand that caused can cure my grief.
To rest contented here is but to bring
Clouds without rain, and heat without a spring.
What hope arises hence? The devils do
The very same-believe and tremble too.
But sacred wisdom doth apply that good
Which simple knowledge barely understood:
Wisdom concludes, and in conclusion proves
That wheresoever God corrects, He loves.
Wisdom digests what knowledge did but taste;
That deals in futures, this in things are past.
Wisdom's the card of knowledge, which, without
That guide, at random's wreck'd on every doubt.
Knowledge, when wisdom is too weak to guide her,
Is like a headstrong horse that throws his rider;
Which made that great philosopher avow,
He knew so much that he did nothing know.
HO knows, when he to go from home
Departeth from his door,
Or when or how he back shall come,
Or whether never more?
For some who walk abroad in health,
In sickness back are brought;
And some who have gone forth with wealth,
Have back return'd with nought.
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