No shadow can compare unto the face, DEDICATION OF A CHURCH. JERUSALEM, that place divine, She deck'd in new attire from heaven, Her walls, wherewith she is inclos'd, The gates, adorn'd with pearls most bright, And thither, by the blessed might All these who are on earth distress'd Because they have Christ's name profess'd. These stones the workmen dress and beat, To God who sits in highest seat, To Father, Son, and Paraclete, Whose boundless power we still adore, HYMN FOR WHITSUNDAY. CREATOR, Holy Ghost, descend, Visit our minds with thy bright flame, And thy celestial grace extend, To fill the hearts which thou dost frame; Who Paraclete art said to be, Gift which the highest God bestows, Fountain of Life, fire, charity, Ointment whence ghostly blessing flows. Thy seven-fold grace thou down didst send; Of God's right hand thou finger art; Thou, by the Father promised, Unto our mouths doth speech impart. In our dull senses kindle light; Far from our dwelling drive our foe, Be pleased to instruct our mind To know the Father and the Son; The Spirit who them both dost bind, Let us believe, while ages run. To God the Father glory great, L THOMAS HEYWOOD. THOMAS HEYWOOD was a remarkable instance of the prolific genius of the dramatists of the age of Elizabeth and James I. In the preface to one of his publications, he claims to be the author, entirely or in part, of no less than two hundred and twenty plays; the greater number of which are lost; but a list of twenty-four, still extant, is given in Cibber's Lives of the Poets. He left other works-as the "Life of Queen Elizabeth," the "General History of Women," and the "Hierarchy of the Angels." It is from this last, a long, and, upon the whole, tedious poem, but not without powerful and even sublime passages, that the pieces which follow are extracted. |