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النشر الإلكتروني

Thus those celestial fires,

Though seeming mute, The fallacy of our desires,

And all the pride of life, confute.

For they have watched since first

The world had birth,
And found sin in itself accursed,

And nothing permanent on earth.

NON NOBIS DOMINE.--David.

No marble statue, nor high

Aspiring pyramid be raised To lose its head within the sky! What claim have I to memory?

God, be thou only praised !

Thou in a moment canst defeat

The mighty conquests of the proud,
And blast the laurels of the great;
Thou canst make brighter glory set

I'th' sudden in a cloud.

How can the feeble works of art

Hold out against th' assault of storms ? Or how can brass to him impart Sense of surviving fame, whose heart

Is now resolved to worms ?

Blind folly of triumphing pride!

Eternity, why build’st thou here?
Dost thou not see the highest tide
Its humbled stream in the ocean hide,

And ne'er the same appear ?

That tide which did its banks o'erflow,

As sent abroad by th' angry sea

To level vastest buildings low,
And all our trophies overthrow,
Ebbs like a thief

away.

And thou who, to preserve thy name,

Leav'st statues in some conquered land, How will posterity scorn fame, When th' idol shall receive a maim,

And lose a foot or hand!

How wilt thou hate thy wars, when he

Who only for his hire did raise Thy counterfeit in stone, with thee Shall stand competitor, and be

Perhaps thought worthier praise !

No laurel wreath about my

brow! To thee, my God, all praise, whose law The conquered doth, and conqueror bow! For both dissolve to air, if Thou

Thy influence but withdraw.

QUID GLORIARIS IN MALICIA ?-DAVID.

Swell no more, proud man, so high !
For enthroned where'er

you

sit, Raised by fortune, sin, and wit, In a vault thou dust must lie.

He who is lifted up by vice,

Hath a neighboring precipice, Dazzling his distorted eye.

Shallow is that unsafe sea

Over which you spread your sail,

And the bark you trust to, frail As the winds it must obey.

Mischief, while it prospers, brings

Favor from the smile of kingsUseless, soon is thrown away

Profit though sin it extort,

Princes even accounted good

Courting greatness ne'er withstood, Since its empire doth support.

But when death makes them repent,

They condemn the instrument, And are thought religious fort. Pitched down from that height you bear, How distracted will

you

lie, When your flattering clients fly, As your

fate infectious were !
When of all th' obsequious throng

That moved by your heart and tongue
None shall in the storm appear;
When that abject insolence,

(Which submits to the more great,

And disdains the weaker state, As misfortunes were offence,)

Shall at court be judged a crime,

Though in practice and the time, Purchase wit at your expense.

Each small tempest shakes the proud,

Whose large branches vainly sprout

Above the measure of the root; But let storms speak ne'er so loud,

And th' astonished day be night,

Yet the just shines in a light Fair as noon without a cloud.

VIA TUAS DOMINE DEMONSTRA MIHI.

WHERE have I wandered ? In what way,

Horrid as night

Increased by storm, did I delight ? Thou, my sad soul, didst often say, 'Twas death and madness so to stray.

On that false ground I joyed to tread,

Which seemed most fair,

Though every path had a new snare, And every turning still did lead To the dark region of the dead.

But with the surfeit of delight

I am so tired,

That now I loathe what I admired,
And my distasted appetite
So abhors the meat, it hates the sight.

For should we naked sin descry,

Not beautified

By the aid of wantonness and pride, Like some misshapen birth 'twould lie, A torment to the affrighted eye. But clothed in beauty and respect,

Even o'er the wise

How powerful doth it tyrannize ! Whose monstrous form should they detect, They famine sooner would affect.' And since those shadows which oppress

My sight, begin

To clear and show the shape of sin,
A scorpion sooner be my guest,
And warm his venom in my breast.
May I, before I grow so vile

By sin again,

Be thrown off as a scorn to men ;
May th' angry world decree to exile
Me to some yet unpeopled isle.
Where while I struggle, and in vain

Labor to find
Some creature that shall have a mind,

· Love.

What justice have I to complain,
If I thy inward

grace

retain ?

My God, if thou shalt not exclude

Thy comfort thence,

What place can seem to troubled sense
So melancholy, dark, and rude,
To be esteemed a solitude ?

Cast me upon some naked shore,
Where I

may

track
Only the print of some sad wreck,
If Thou be there, though the seas roar,
I shall no gentler calm implore.

VERSA EST IN LUCTUM CYTHARA MEA.-JOB

Love! I no orgies sing,

Whereby thy mercies to invoke,
Nor from the east rich perfumes bring,

To cloud thy altars with the precious smoke.

Nor while I did frequent

Those fancs by lovers raised to thee,
Did I loose heathenish rights invent,

To force a blush from injured chastity.
Religious was the charm

I used affection to entice,
And thought none burnt more bright or warm,

Yet chaste as winter was the sacrifice.

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But now I thee bequeath

To the soft silken youths at court,
Who may their witty passions breathe,

To raise their mistress' smile, or make her sport.
They'll smooth thee into rhyme,

Such as shall catch the wanton ear;
And win opinion with the time,

To make them a high sail of honor bear.

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