And with their blush of light descry
Thy locks crown'd with eternity?
Indeed, it is the only time

That with thy glory doth best chime.
All now are stirring, every field
Full hymns doth yield:

The whole creation shakes off night,
And for thy shadow looks the light:
Stars now vanish without number;
Sleepy planets set and slumber;
The pursy clouds disband and scatter;
All expect some sudden matter,
Not one beam triumphs, but from far
That morning-star.

O, at what time soever thou

(Unknown to us,) the heavens wilt bow;
And, with thy angels in the van,
Descend to judge poor careless man;
Grant, I may not like puddle lie
In a corrupt security;

Where, if a traveller water crave,
He finds it dead and in a grave;
But as this restless vocal spring
All day and night doth run, and sing;
And though here born, yet is acquainted
Elsewhere, and flowing keeps untainted:
So let me all my busy age

In thy free services engage;
And though (while here) of force I must
Have commerce sometimes with poor dust;
And in my flesh, though vile and low,,
As this doth in her channel flow;
Yet let my course, my aim, my love,
And chief acquaintance be above.

So when that day and hour shall come
In which thyself will be the sun,
Thou'lt find me dressed, and on my way,
Watching the break of thy great day.

THE WORLD.

I SAW Eternity the other night,

Like a great ring of pure and endless light,
All calm as it was bright;

And round beneath it, Time in hours, days, years,
Driven by the spheres,

Like a vast shadow moved, in which the world
And all her train were hurl'd.

The doting lover in his quaintest strain
Did there complain;

Near him his lute, his fancy, and his flights-
Wits so our delights-

With gloves and knots the silly snares of pleasure;
Yet his dear treasure,

All scatter'd lay, while he his eyes did pour
Upon a flower.

The darksome statesman, hung with weights and

woe,

Like a thick midnight-fog, moved there so slow
He did nor stay nor go:

Condemning thoughts (like sad eclipses) scowl
Upon his soul;

And clouds of crying witnesses without
Pursued him with one shout.

Yet digg'd the mole, and lest his ways be found
Work'd underground,

Where he did clutch his prey-but one did see
That policy;

Churches and altars fed him; perjuries
Were gnats and flies;

It rained about him blood and tears, but he
Drank them as free.

The fearful miser on a heap of rust
Sate pining all his life there-did scarce trust
His own hands with the dust;

Yet would not place one piece above, but lives
In fear of thieves.

Thousands there were as frantic as himself,
And hugg'd each one his pelf:

The downright epicure placed heaven in sense,
And scorned pretence;

While others, slipp'd into a wide excess,
Said little less :

The weaker sort slight, trivial wares enslave,
Who think them brave;

And poor despised truth sat counting by
Their victory.

Yet some, who all this while did weep and sing,
And sing and weep, soar'd up into the ring;
But most would use no wing.

O fools! (said I,) thus to prefer dark night
Before true light;

To live in grots and caves, and hate the day
Because it shows the way-

The way which from this dead and dark abode
Leads up to God;

A way where you might tread the sun, and be More bright than he.

But as I did their madness so discuss,

One whisper'd thus:

"This ring the Bridegroom did for none provide But for his bride."

JOHN QUARLES.

BORN 1624; DIED 1665.

He was the son of the more celebrated poet, Francis Quarles. His writings prove him to have been little, if at all, inferior to his father in genius or piety, and unquestionably his superior in taste. They are, principally, "Regale Lectum Miseriæ, or a Kingly Bed of Misery :" "Fons Lachrymarum, or a Fountain of Tears;""Divine Meditations ;" and, "Triumphant Chastity, or Joseph's Self-conflict."