Discipline
Throw away thy rod, Throw away thy wrath: O my God, Take the gentle path. For my heart’s desire Unto thine is bent: I aspire To a full consent. Not a word or look
The Forerunners
The harbingers are come. See, see their mark; White is their colour, and behold my head. But must they have my brain? must they dispark Those sparkling notions, which therein were bred? Must dulnesse
Joseph's Coat
Wounded I sing, tormented I indite, Thrown down I fall into a bed, and rest: Sorrow hath chang’d its note: such is his will Who changeth all things, as him pleaseth best. For well
Artillery
As I one ev’ning sat before my cell, Me thoughts a star did shoot into my lap. I rose, and shook my clothes, as knowing well, That from small fires comes oft no small
Affliction
When thou didst entice to thee my heart, I thought the service brave: So many joys I writ down for my part, Besides what I might have Out of my stock of natural delights,
Man's Medley
Hark, how the birds do sing, And woods do ring! All creatures have their joy, and man hath his. Yet if we rightly measure, Man’s joy and pleasure Rather hereafter than in present is.
Easter
Rise, heart, thy lord is risen. Sing his praise Without delays, Who takes thee by the hand, that thou likewise With him may’st rise: That, as his death calcinиd thee to dust, His life
Virtue
Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright, The bridal of the earth and sky, The dew shall weep thy fall tonight; For thou must die. Sweet rose, whose hue angry and brave Bids
Sin (II)
O that I could a sin once see! We paint the devil foul, yet he Hath some good in him, all agree. Sin is flat opposite to th’ Almighty, seeing It wants the good
Mortification
How soon doth man decay! When clothes are taken from a chest of sweets To swaddle infants, whose young breath Scarce knows the way; Those clouts are little winding-sheets, Which do consign and send
The Flower
How fresh, O Lord, how sweet and clean Are thy returns! ev’n as the flowers in spring; To which, besides their own demean, The late-past frosts tributes of pleasure bring. Grief melts away Like
Mattins
I cannot ope mine eyes, But thou art ready there to catch My morning-soul and sacrifice: Then we must needs for that day make a match. My God, what is a heart? Silver, or
Denial
When my devotions could not pierce Thy silent ears; Then was my heart broken, as was my verse: My breast was full of fears And disorder: My bent thoughts, like a brittle bow, Did
Sin
Lord, with what care hast Thou begirt us round! Parents first season us; then schoolmasters Deliver us to laws;-they send us bound To rules of reason, holy messengers, Pulpits and Sundays, sorrow dogging sin,
The British Church
I joy, dear mother, when I view Thy perfect lineaments, and hue Both sweet and bright. Beauty in thee takes up her place, And dates her letters from thy face, When she doth write.