AIMBORLIAD

Now each ethereal gate,

To Him hath opened been;

And glory's King in state
His palace enters in:

Now come is this High priest

To the most holy place,

Not without blood addressed,

With glory heaven, the earth to crown with grace.

Stars which all eyes were late,

And did with wonder burn

His name to celebrate,

In flaming tongues their turn;

Their orby crystals move

More active than before,

And entheate' from above,

Their sovereign Prince laud, glorify, adore.

The choirs of happy souls

Waked with that music sweet,

Whose descant care controls,

Their Lord in triumph meet:

The spotless spirits of light,

His trophies do extol,

And arched in squadrons bright,

Greet their great Victor in his capitol.

O glory of the heaven!

O sole delight of earth!

To Thee all power be given,
God's uncreated birth;

Of mankind lover true,

Endurer of his wrong,

Who dost the world renew,

Still be Thou our salvation and our song,

From top of Olivet, such notes did rise,
When man's Redeemer did ascend the skies.

1 Divinely inspired.

GILES FLETCHER,

NEPHEW of Richard Fletcher, bishop of London; son of Giles Fletcher, LL.D., and brother of Phineas Fletcher, a poet of kindred genius, was born in London about the year 1586, and was educated at Trinity College, Cambridge, where his poem f "Christ's Victorie and Triumph" appeared in 1610. Little more is known of him, except that he was settled in the rectory of Alderton, in Suffolk, where, we are told by Fuller, in his quaint manner, his "clownish and low-parted parishioners (having nothing but their shoes high about them) valued not their pastor according to his worth, which disposed him to melancholy and hastened his dissolution." He died about the year 1623.

THE INTERPOSITION OF JUSTICE.

BUT Justice had no sooner Mercy seen
Smoothing the wrinkles of her Father's brow,
But up she starts, and throws herself between ;
As when a vapor from a moory slough
Meeting with fresh Eous, that but now

Opened the world which all in darkness lay,
Doth heaven's bright face of his rays disarray,
And sads the smiling orient of the springing day.

She was a virgin of austere regard,

Not as the world esteems her, deaf and blind,
But as the eagle, that hath oft compared
Her eye with heaven's, So, and more brightly shined
Her lamping sight; for she the same could wind

Into the solid heart, and with her ears

The silence of the thought loud speaking hears,
And in one hand a pair of even scales she wears.

No riot of affection revel kept

Within her breast, but a still apathy

Possessed all her soul, which softly slept,

Securely, without tempest; no sad cry
Awakes her pity, but wronged Poverty

Sending her eyes to heaven swimming in tears, And hideous clamors ever struck her ears, Wetting the blazing sword that in her hand she bears.

The winged lightning is her Mercury,

And round about her mighty thunders sound;
Impatient of himself lies pining by

Pale sickness, with his kerchered head up wound,
And thousand noisome plagues attend her round;

But if her cloudy brow but once grow foul,

The flints do melt, the rocks to water roll, And airy mountains shake, and frightened shadows howl,

Famine, and bloodless Care, and bloody War,
Want, and the want of knowledge how to use
Abundance, Age, and Fear that runs afar
Before his fellow Grief, that aye pursues
His winged steps; for who would not refuse

Grief's company, a dull and raw-boned spright, That lanks the cheeks and pales the freshest sight, Unbosoming the cheerful breast of all delight.

Before this cursed throng goes Ignorance,
That needs will lead the way it cannot see;
And, after all, Death doth his flag advance,
And, in the midst, Strife still would roguing be,
Whose ragged flesh and clothes did well agree;
And round about amazed Horror flies,

And over all, Shame veils his guilty eyes,
And underneath Hell's hungry throat still yawning lies.

THE SHAME OF NOT LOVING GOD.

WERE he not wilder than the savage beast,

Prouder than haughty hills, harder than rocks, Colder than fountains from their springs released,

Lighter than air, blinder than senseless stocks, More changing than the river's curling locks; If reason would not, sense would soon reprove him, And unto shame, if not to sorrow, move him,

To see cold floods, wild beasts, dull stocks, hard stones, outlove him.

SHOULD any to himself for safety fly?

The way to save himself, if anywhere,
Were to fly from himself; should he rely

Upon the promise of his wife? but there
What can he see but that he most may fear,
A syren sweet to death? upon his friends?
Who, that he needs, or that he hath not, lends?
Or wanting aid himself, aid to another sends?

His strength? but dust: his pleasure? cause of pain:
His hope? false courtier: youth or beauty? brittle :
Entreaty? fond: repentance? late and vain:

Just recompense? the world were all too little :
Thy love? he hath no title to a tittle:

Hell's force? in vain her furies hell shall gather:
His servants, kinsmen, or his children rather?

His child, if good, shall judge; if bad, shall curse his father.

His life? that brings him to his end and leaves him :
His end? that leaves him to begin his wo:
His goods? what good in that, that so deceives him?
His gods of wood? their feet, alas! are slow
Το go to help, that must be helped to go:
Honor? great worth? ah! little worth they be
Unto their owners: wit? that makes him see

He wanted wit, that thought he had it wanting Thee.