CHRIST'S CHILDHOOD.*

ILL twelve years' age, how Christ His childhood spent

All earthly pens unworthy were to write;

Such acts to mortal eyes He did present,

Whose worth not men but angels must recite: No nature's blots, no childish faults defiled, Where grace was guide, and God did play the child.

In springing locks lay crouched hoary wit,

In semblant young, a grave and ancient port;
In lowly looks high majesty did sit,

In tender tongue sound sense of sagest sort:
Nature imparted all that she could teach,
And God supplied where nature could not reach.

His mirth of modest mien a mirror was;
His sadness temper'd with a mild aspect;

His eye to try each action was a glass,

Whose looks did good approve and bad correct; His nature's gifts, His grace, His word and deed, Well show'd that all did from a God proceed.

* Transferred from the Edition of "St. Peter's Complaint" of 1634.

CHRIST'S BLOODY SWEAT.

SAT soil, full spring, sweet olive, grape

of bliss,

That yields, that streams, that pours, that doth distil,

Untill'd, undrawn, unstamp'd, untouch'd of press, Dear fruit, clear brooks, fair oil, sweet wine at will! Thus Christ unforced prevents, in shedding blood, The whips, the thorns, the nails, the spear and rood.

He pelican's, he phoenix' fate doth prove,

Whom flames consume, whom streams enforce

to die;

How burneth blood, how bleedeth burning love?

Can one in flame and stream both bathe and fry? How could He join a phoenix' fiery pains In fainting pelican's still bleeding veins?

Elias once, to prove God's sovereign power,
By prayer procured a fire of wond'rous force,
That blood and water and wood did devour,

Yea stones and dust beyond all nature's course: Such fire is love that, fed with gory blood,

Doth burn no less than in the driest wood.

O sacred fire! come show thy force on me,

That sacrifice to Christ I

may return:

If wither'd wood for fuel fittest be,

If stones and dust, if flesh and blood will burn,

I wither'd am and stony to all good,

A sack of dust, a mass of flesh and blood.

CHRIST'S SLEEPING FRIENDS.

HEN Christ, with care and pangs of death oppress'd,

From frighted flesh a bloody sweat did rain;

And, full of fear, without repose or rest,

In agony did pray and watch in pain; Three sundry times He His disciples finds With heavy eyes, but far more heavy minds.

With mild rebuke He warned them to wake,
Yet sleep did still their drowsy senses hold;
As, when the sun the brightest shew doth make,
In darkness shrouds the night-birds them enfold;
His foes did watch to work their cruel spite,
His drowsy friends slept in His hardest plight.

As Jonas sailed once from Joppa's shore

A boisterous tempest in the air did broil, The waves did rage, the thundering heavens did roar, The storms, the rocks, the lightnings threaten'd spoil;

The ship was billows' game and chance's prey,

Yet careless Jonas mute and sleeping lay.

So now, though Judas, like a blust'ring gust,
Do stir the furious sea of Jewish ire,
Though storming troops, in quarrels most unjust,
Against the back of all our bliss conspire,
Yet these disciples sleeping lie secure,

As though their wonted calm did still endure.

So Jonas once, his weary limbs to rest,
Did shroud himself in pleasant ivy shade,
But lo! while him a heavy sleep opprest,

His shadowy bower to wither'd stalks did fade;
A canker-worm had gnawn the root away,
And brought the glorious branches to decay.

O gracious plant! O tree of heavenly spring!
The paragon for leaf, for fruit and flower,
How sweet a shadow did Thy branches bring
To shroud these souls that chose Thee for their

bower!

But now while they with Jonas fall asleep,
To spoil their plant an envious worm doth creep.

Awake, ye slumbering wights! lift up your eyes, Mark Judas, how to tear your root he strives;

Alas! the glory of your arbour dies,

Arise and guard the comfort of your lives;

No Jonas' ivy, no Zaccheus' tree,

Were to the world so great a loss as He.