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30

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When the tapers pow burn blue,
And the comforters are few,
And that number more than true,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me!
When the priest his last hath prayed,
And I nod to what is said,
'Cause my speech is now decayed,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me!
When, God knows, I'm toss'd 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 balf damps me with untruth,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me!
When the flames and bellish cries
Fright mine ears, and fright mine eyes,
And all terrors me surprise,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

Liko as my parlour, so my hall

And kitchen's small;
A little buttery, and therein

A little bin
Which keeps my little loaf of bread

Unclipt, unflead.
Some brittle sticks of thorn or briar

Make me a fire,
Close by whose living coal I sit,

And glow like it.
Lord, I confess, too, when I dine,

The pulse is Thine,
And all those other bits, that be

There placed by Thee;
The worts, the purslain, and the mess

Of water-cress,
Which of Thy kindness Thou hast sent;

And my content
Makes those, and my beloved beet,

To be inore sweet. 'Tis Thou that crown’st my glittering hearth

With guiltless mirth;
And giv'st me wassail bowls to drink,

Spiced to the brink.
Lord, 'tis Thy plenty-dropping hand,

That soils my land;
And giv'st me for my bushel sown,

Twice ten for one.
Thou mak'st my teeming hen to lay

Her egg each day;
Besides my healthful ewes to bear

Me twins each year, The while the conduits of

my

kine
Run cream for wine.
All these, and better Thon dost send

Me, to this end,
That I should render, for my part,

A thankful heart;
Which, fired with incense, I resign,

As wholly Thine;
But the acceptance, that must be,

My Christ, by Thee.

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When the judgment is reveald, And that open'd which was seal'd, When to Thee I have appeald,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

50

A THANKSGIVING TO GOD FOR

HIS HOUSE

THE DIRGE OF JEPHTHAH'S

DAUGHTER

LORD, Thou hast given me a cell

Wherein to dwell;
A little bouse, whose humble roof

Is weather-proof;
Under the spars of which I lie

Both soft and dry;
Where Thon my chamber for to ward

Hast set a guard
Of harmless thoughts, to watch and keep

Me, while I sleep.
Low is my porch, as is my fate,

Both void of state;
And yet the thresbold of my door

Is worn by th' poor,
Who thither come, and freely get

Good words or meat;

SUNG BY THE VIRGINS

10

O thou, the wonder of all days !
O paragon, and pearl of praise !
O virgin-martyr, ever blest

Above the rest
Of all the maiden train ! We come,
And bring fresh strewings to thy tomb.

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No, no; our maiden pleasures be Wrapp'd in the winding-sheet with thee: 'Tis we are dead, though not i'th' grave:

Or, if we have One seed of life left, 'tis to keep A Lent for thee, to fast and weep. Sleep in thy peace, thy bed of spice, And make this place all paradise: May sweets grow here: and smokefrom hence

Fat frankincense: Let balm and cassia send their scent From out thy maiden-monument. May no wolf howl, or screech-owl stir A wing about thy sepulchre ! No boisterous winds, or storms, come hither

To starve or wither
Thy soft sweet earth! but, like a spring,
Love keep it ever flourishing.
May all shy maids, at wonted hours,
Come forth to strew thy tomb with flow'rs'
May virgins, when they come to mourn,

Male-incense burn
Upon thine altar! then return,
And leave thee sleepiug in thy urn.

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Thus, thus, and thus we compass round
Thy harmless and unhaunted ground;
And as we sing thy dirge, we will

The daffodil
And other flowers lay upon
The altar of our love, thy stone.
Thou wonder of all maids, liest here,
Of daughters all the dearest dear;
The eye of virgius; nay, the queen

Of this smooth green,
And all sweet meads; from whence we get
The primrose and the violet.
Too soon, too dear did Jephthah buy,
By thy sad loss, our liberty:
His was the bond and cov’nant, yet

Thou paid'st the debt:
Lamented maid ! he won the day,
But for the conquest thou didst pay.
Thy father brought with him along
The olive branch and victor's song:
He slew the Ammonites, we know,

But to thy woe;
And in the purchase of our peace,
The cure was worse than the disease.
For which obedient zeal of thine,
We offer here, before thy shrine,
Our sighs for storax, tears for wine;

And to make fine
And fresh thy hearse-cloth, we will, here,
Four times bestrew thee ev'ry year.
Receive, for this thy praise, our tears:
Receive this offering of our hairs:
Receive these crystal vials fill'd

With tears distillid
From teeming eyes; to these we bring,
Each maid, her silver filleting,
To gild thy tomb; besides, these cauls, 1
These laces, ribbons, and these falls,
These veils, wherewith we use to hide

The bashful bride,
When we conduct her to her groom:
And all we lay upon thy tomb.
No more, no more, since thou art dead,
Shall we e'er bring coy brides to bed;
No more, at yearly festivals

We cowslip balls
Or chains of columbines shall make
For this or that occasion's sake.

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to

1

TO KEEP A TRUE LENT Is this a fast, to keep

The larder lean ?

And clean From fat of veals and sheep? Is it to quit the dish

Of flesh, yet still

To fill
The platter high with fish?
Is it to fast an hour,

Or ragg’d to go,

Or show
A downcast look and sour ?
No; 'tis a fast to dole

Thy sheaf of wheat,

And meat,
Unto the hungry soul.
It is to fast from strife,

From old debate

And hate;
To circumcise thy life.
To show a heart grief-rent;

To starve thy sin,

Not bin;
And that's to keep thy Lent.

a

50

But he, her fears to cease,

Sent down the meek-eyed Peace.
She, crowned with olive green, came

softly sliding
Down through the turning sphere,
His ready harbinger,
With turtle wing the amorous clouds

dividing; And, waving wide her myrtle wand, She strikes a universal peace through sea

IV

50

See how from far upon the eastern road The star-led wizards haste with odours