GOD.

"Whom have I in heaven but thee? and there is none upon earth that I defire befide thee." Psalm 73: 25.

I

LOVE (and have some cause to love) the earth;

She is my Maker's creature, therefore good:

She is my mother, for fhe gave me birth;

She is my tender nurse; she gives me food:

But what's a creature, Lord, compar'd with thee?
Or what's my mother, or my nurse, to me?

I love the air; her dainty sweets refresh
My drooping soul, and to new sweets invite me;
Her fhrill-mouth'd choir suftain me with their flesh;
And with their Polyphonian notes delight me:

But what's the air, or all the sweets, that she
Can blefs my soul withal, compar'd to thee?

I love the sea; fhe is my fellow-creature,
My careful purveyor; fhe provides me ftore:
She walls me round; fhe makes my diet greater;
She wafts my treasure from a foreign fhore:

But, Lord of oceans, when.compar'd with thee,
What is the ocean, or her wealth, to me?

To Heaven's high city I direct my journey,
Whose spangled suburbs entertain mine eye;
Mine eye, by contemplation's great attorney,
Transcends the cryftal pavement of the sky:

But what is Heav'n, great God, compar'd to thee?
Without thy presence, Heav'n 's no Heav'n to me.

Without thy presence, earth gives no refection ;
Without thy presence, sea affords no treasure;
Without thy presence, air's a rank infection ;
Without thy presence, Heav'n itself's no pleasure;
If not poffeff'd, if not enjoy'd in thee,

What's earth, or sea, or air, or Heaven, to me?
Francis Quarles.

N all extremes, Lord, thou art ftill

IN

The mount whereto my hopes do flee;

O make my soul deteft all ill,

Because so much abhorred by thee:
Lord, let thy gracious trials fhow
That I am juft, or make me so.

Shall mountain, desert, beast, and tree,
Yield to that heavenly voice of thine;

And fhall that voice not startle me,

Nor ftir this ftone-this heart of mine? No, Lord, till thou new-bore mine ear, Thy voice is loft, I cannot hear.

Fountain of light, and living breath,

Whose mercies never fail nor fade, Fill me with life that hath no death,

Fill me with light that hath no shade; Appoint the remnant of my days To see thy power, and fing thy praise.

Lord, God of gods, before whose throne
Stand ftorms and fire, O what shall we
Return to heaven, that is our own,

When all the world belongs to thee?
We have no offering to impart,
But praises, and a wounded heart.

O Thou who fittest in heaven, and seest My deeds without, my thoughts within, Be thou my prince, be thou my priest,Command my soul, and cure my fin: How bitter my afflictions be

I care not, so I rise to Thee.

What I poffefs, or what I crave,

Brings no content, great God, to me, If what I would or what I have

Be not poffeffed and bleffed in Thee:

What I enjoy, oh, make it mine,
In making me-that have it-Thine.

When winter-fortunes cloud the brows

Of summer-friends,- when eyes grow ftrange, When plighted faith forgets its vows,

When earth and all things in it change, O Lord, thy mercies fail me never,

When once Thou loveft, Thou loveft forever. John Quarles, son of Francis, died in 1665.

U

PSALM CXXI.

'P to those bright and gladsome hills,
Whence flowes my weal and mirth,
I look, and figh for Him who fills
Unseen both heaven and earth.

He is alone my help and hope,
That I fhall not be moved;
His watchful eye is ever ope,
And guardeth his beloved.

The glorious God is my sole stay,
He is my sun and shade:

The cold by night, the heat by day,
Neither fhall me invade.

He keeps me from the spite of foes:
Doth all their plots controul;
And is a fhield, not reckoning those,
Unto my very soul.

Whether abroad amidst the crowd,
Or else within my door,

He is my pillar and my cloud,

Now and forevermore.

Henry Vaughan.

PSALM CXLVIII.

NOME, oh! come, with sacred lays,

COME

Let us sound the Almighty's praise;

Hither bring in true consent,

Heart, and voice, and inftrument.

Let the orpharion sweet,

With the harp and viol meet :
Το your voices tune the lute:
Let not tongue nor ftring be mute :
Not a creature dumb be found,
That hath either voice or sound.