In this world, the isle of dreams,
While we sit by sorrow's streams,
Tears and terrors are our themes
Reciting:
But when once from hence we fly,
More and more approaching nigh
Unto young Eternity
Uniting:
In that whiter island, where
Things are evermore sincere;
Candour here, and lustre there
Delighting:
There no
monstrous
fancies shall
Out of hell an horror call,
To create, or cause at all,
Affrighting.
Robert Herrick
TO HIS SAVIOUR. THE NEW-YEAR'S GIFT.
That little pretty bleeding part
Of foreskin send to me:
And I'll return a bleeding heart
For New-Year's gift to Thee.
Rich is the gem that Thou did'st send,
Mine's faulty too and small;
But yet this gift Thou wilt commend
Because I send Thee all.
126. DOOMSDAY.
Let not that day God's friends and servants scare;
The bench is then their place, and not the bar.
127. THE POOR'S PORTION.
The sup'rabundance of my store,
That is the portion of the poor:
Wheat, barley, rye, or oats; what is't
But He takes toll of? all the grist.
Two raiments have I: Christ then makes
This law; that He and I part stakes.
Or have I two loaves, then I use
The poor to cut, and I to choose.
128. THE WHITE ISLAND: OR, PLACE OF THE BLEST.
In this world, the isle of dreams,
While we sit by sorrow's streams,
Tears and terrors are our themes
Reciting:
But when once from hence we fly,
More and more approaching nigh
Unto young Eternity
Uniting:
In that whiter island, where
Things are evermore sincere;
Candour here, and lustre there
Delighting:
There no
monstrous
fancies shall
Out of hell an horror call,
To create, or cause at all,
Affrighting.
There in calm and cooling sleep
We our eyes shall never steep;
But eternal watch shall keep,
Attending
Pleasures, such as shall pursue
Me immortalised, and you;
And fresh joys, as never to
Have ending.
129. TO CHRIST.
I crawl, I creep; my Christ, I come
To Thee for curing balsamum:
Thou hast, nay more, Thou art the tree
Affording salve of sovereignty.
My mouth I'll lay unto Thy wound
Bleeding, that no blood touch the ground:
For, rather than one drop shall fall
To waste, my JESU, I'll take all.
130. TO GOD.
God! to my little meal and oil
Add but a bit of flesh to boil:
And Thou my pipkinet shalt see,
Give a wave-off'ring unto Thee.
131. FREE WELCOME.
God He refuseth no man, but makes way
For all that now come or hereafter may.
132. GOD'S GRACE.
God's grace deserves here to be daily fed
That, thus increased, it might be perfected.