THE GIFT OF REST. 195 THE GIFT OF REST. WHEN God at first made Man, So strength first made a way; Then beauty flow'd; then wisdom, honour, pleasure: When almost all was out, God made a stay, Perceiving that alone, of all his treasure, Rest in the bottom lay. For if I should (said he) Bestow this jewel also on my creature, Yet let him keep the rest, But keep them with repining restlessness: G. Herbert. 196 MAN THE MICROCOSM. MAN THE MICROCOSM. My God, I heard this day That none doth build a stately habitation What house more stately hath there been, For Man is everything; And more. He is a tree, yet bears no fruit. Man is all symmetry, Full of proportions, one limb to another, Each part may call the farthest brother; Nothing hath got so far But Man hath caught and kept it as his prey. His eyes dismount the highest star; He is, in little, all the sphere. Herbs gladly cure our flesh, because that they Find their acquaintance there. 197 MAN THE MICROCOSM. For us the winds do blow, The earth doth rest, heav'n move, and fountains flow. As our delight or as our treasure. Or cabinet of pleasure. The stars have us to bed; Night draws the curtain, which the sun withdraws. All things unto our flesh are kind Each thing is full of duty: Below, our drink; above, our meat; More servants wait on Man Than he'll take notice of. In ev'ry path He treads down that which doth befriend him, Since, then, my God, thou hast That, as the world serves us, we may serve thee, G. Herbert. 198 THE HERMIT. THE HERMIT. AT the close of the day, when the hamlet is still, While his harp rang symphonious, a hermit began; No more with himself, or with nature, at war, He thought as a sage, though he felt as a man. "Ah! why thus abandon'd to darkness and woe? Mourn, sweetest complainer; man calls thee to mourn. O, soothe him, whose pleasures like thine pass away: Full quickly they pass—but they never return. "Now gliding remote, on the verge of the sky, She shone, and the planets were lost in her blaze. THE HERMIT. "'Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more: 199 Perfumed with fresh fragrance and glittering with dew: Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn; Kind nature the embryo blossom will save; But when shall spring visit the mouldering urn? O, when shall day dawn on the night of the grave? ""Twas thus, by the light of false science betray'd, "O, pity, great Father of light,' then I cried, 'Thy creature, that fain would not wander from Thee: Lo, humbled in dust, I relinquish my pride: From doubt and from darkness Thou only canst free!' "And darkness and doubt are now flying away; James Beattie. |