LITANY TO THE HOLY SPIRIT.
When the priest his last has pray'd,
And I nod to what is said,
'Cause my speech is now decay'd,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!
When, God knows, I'm tost about,
Either with despair, or doubt;
Yet before the glass be out,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!
When the Tempter me pursu'th
With the sins of all my youth,
And half damns me with untruth;
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!
When the flames and hellish cries
Fright mine ears, and fright mine eyes,
And all terrors me surprise;
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!
When the judgment is reveal'd,
And that open'd which was seal'd,
When to Thee I have appeal'd ;
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!
I LOVE (and have some cause to love) the Earth,
She is my Maker's creature, therefore good;
She is my mother, for she 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 shrill-mouth'd choir sustain me with their flesh, And with their merry-sounding notes delight me; But what's the Air, or all the sweets that she Can bless my soul withal, compar'd to Thee?
I love the Sea, she is my fellow-creature,
My careful purveyor; she provides me store; She walls me round; she makes my diet greater; She wafts my treasure from a foreign shore;
But, Lord of Ocean, when compar'd with Thee,
What is the Ocean, or her wealth, to me?
To Heav'n's high city I direct my journey,
Whose spangl'd suburbs entertain mine eye;
Mine eye, by contemplation's great attorney,
Transcends the crystal 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 possess'd, if not enjoy'd in Thee,
What's Earth, or Sea, or Air, or Heav'n to me?
The highest honours that the world can boast
Are subjects far too low for my desire;
The brightest beams of glory are (at most)
But dying sparkles of Thy living fire:
The proudest flames that earth can kindle be
But nightly glow-worms, if compar'd to Thee.
Without Thy presence wealth is bags of cares;
Wisdom but folly; joy, disquiet sadness:
Friendship is treason, and delights are snares;
Pleasure's but pain, and mirth but pleasing madness;
Without Thee, Lord, things be not what they be,
Nor have they being, when compar'd with Thee.
In having all things, and not Thee, what have I?
Not having Thee, what have my labours got?
Let me enjoy but Thee, what farther crave I
And having Thee alone, what have I not?
I wish nor sea, nor land; nor would I be
Possess'd of Heav'n, Heav'n unpossess'd of Thee.
Francis Quarles.
LIKE to the arctic needle, that doth guide
The wand'ring shade by his magnetic pow'r,
And leaves his silken gnomon to decide
The question of the controverted hour,
First frantics up and down from side to side,
And restless beats his crystal'd iv'ry case,
With vain impatience jets from place to place,
And seeks the bosom of his frozen bride;
At length he slacks his motion, and doth rest
His trembling point at his bright pole's beloved breast.
E'en so my soul, being hurried here and there,
By ev'ry object that presents delight,
Fain would be settled, but she knows not where;
She likes at morning what she loathes at night :
She bows to honour; then she lends an ear
To that sweet swan-like voice of dying pleasure,
Then tumbles in the scatter'd heaps of treasure ;
Now flatter'd with false hope; now foil'd with fear.
Thus, finding all the world's delight to be
But empty toys, great God, she points alone to Thee.
But hath the virtued steel a power to move?
Or can the untouch'd needle point aright?
Or can my wand'ring thoughts forbear to rove,
Unguided by the virtue of Thy spright?
Or hath my leaden soul the art t' improve
Her wasted talent, and, unrais'd, aspire
In this sad moulting time of her desire?
Not first belov'd, have I the power to love?
I cannot stir, but as Thou please to move me,
Nor can my heart return Thee love, until Thou love me.
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