Like as my parlour, so my hall A little buttery, and therein Which keeps my little loaf of bread Some brittle sticks of thorn or briar Close by whose living coal I sit, Lord, I confess, too, when I dine, 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; Makes those, and my beloved beet, 20 30 'Tis Thou that crown'st my glittering hearth With guiltless mirth; And giv'st me wassail bowls to drink, Lord, 'tis Thy plenty-dropping hand, And giv'st me for my bushel sown, Besides my healthful ewes to bear The while the conduits of my kine All these, and better Thou dost send That I should render, for my part, Which, fired with incense, I resign, But the acceptance, that must be, THE DIRGE OF JEPHTHAH'S DAUGHTER SUNG BY THE VIRGINS 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. 40 50 |