THE seas are quiet when the winds give o'er
So calm are we when passions are no more.
For then we know how vain it was to boast
Of fleeting things, too certain to be lost.
Clouds of affection from our younger eyes
Conceal that emptiness which age descries.
The soul's dark cottage, batter'd and decay'd,
Lets in new light through chinks that time has made;
Stronger by weakness, wiser men become
As they draw near to their eternal home.
Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view,
That stand upon the threshold of the new.
WHEN God at first made Man,
Having a glass of blessings standing by;
Let us (said he) pour on him all we can:
Let the world's riches, which disperséd lie,
Contract into a span.
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,
For if I should (said he)
Bestow this jewel also on my creature,
He would adore my gifts instead of me,
And rest in Nature, not the God of Nature:
So both should losers be.
Yet let him keep the rest,
But keep them with repining restlessness:
Let him be rich and weary, that at least,
If goodness lead him not, yet weariness
May toss him to my breast.
My God, I heard this day
That none doth build a stately habitation
But he that means to dwell therein.
What house more stately hath there been,
Or can be, than is Man, to whose creation
All things are in decay?
For Man is everything;
And more. He is a tree, yet bears no fruit.
A beast; yet is, or should be more.
Reason and speech we only bring.
Parrots may thank us, if they are not mute;
They go upon the score.
Man is all symmetry,
Full of proportions, one limb to another,
And to all the world besides.
Each part may call the farthest brother;
For head with foot hath private amity,
And both, with moons and tides.
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.
For us the winds do blow,
The earth doth rest, heav'n move, and fountains flow.
Nothing we see, but means our good,
As our delight or as our treasure.
The whole is either our cupboard of food,
Or cabinet of pleasure.
The stars have us to bed;
Night draws the curtain, which the sun withdraws.
Music and light attend our head.
All things unto our flesh are kind
In their descent and being; to our mind,
In their ascent and cause.
Each thing is full of duty: Waters united are our navigation; Distinguishèd, our habitation;
Below, our drink; above, our meat;
Both are our cleanliness. Hath one such beauty?
Then how are all things neat!
More servants wait on Man
Than he'll take notice of. In ev'ry path
He treads down that which doth befriend him,
When sickness makes him pale and wan.
Oh, mighty love! Man is one world, and hath
Another to attend him.
Since, then, my God, thou hast
So brave a palace built, oh, dwell in it,
That it may dwell with thee at last!
Till then, afford us so much wit
That, as the world serves us, we may serve thee,
And both thy servants be.
AT the close of the day, when the hamlet is still,
And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove;
When nought but the torrent is heard on the hill,
And nought but the nightingale's song in the grove;
'Twas thus, by the cave of the mountain afar,
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?
Why lone Philomela, that languishing fall?
For spring shall return, and a lover bestow,
And sorrow no longer thy bosom enthral.
But, if pity inspire thee, renew the sad lay;
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,
The moon half extinguish'd her crescent displays;
But lately I mark'd, when majestic on high
She shone, and the planets were lost in her blaze.
Roll on, thou fair orb, and with gladness pursue
The path that conducts thee to splendour again:
But man's faded glory what change shall renew?
Ah, fool! to exult in a glory so vain!
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