How happy is he born and taught That serveth not another's will; Whose armor is his honest thought, And simple truth his utmost skill!

Whose pa.s.sions not his masters are, Whose soul is still prepared for death, Not tied unto the world with care Of public fame, or private breath;

Who envies none that chance doth raise Or vice; who never understood How deepest wounds are given by praise; Nor rules of state, but rules of good;

Who hath his life from rumors freed; Whose conscience is his strong retreat; Whose state can neither flatterers feed, Nor ruin make accusers great;

Who G.o.d doth late and early pray More of His grace than gifts to lend; And entertains the harmless day With a well-chosen book or friend;

--This man is freed from servile bands Of hope to rise, or fear to fall; Lord of himself, though not of lands; And having nothing, yet hath all.

_--Sir H. Wotton_

A THANKSGIVING TO G.o.d, FOR HIS HOUSE

Lord, thou hast given me a cell, Wherein to dwell; A little house, whose humble roof Is weather-proof; Under the spars of which I lie Both soft and dry; Where thou, 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 threshold of my door Is worn by th' poor, Who thither come, and freely get Good words, or meat.

Like as my parlor, so my hall And kitchen's small; A little b.u.t.tery, and therein A little bin, Which keeps my little loaf of bread Unchipt, 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 more sweet.

'Tis thou that crown'st my glittering hearth With guiltless mirth, And giv'st me wa.s.sail-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, thou dost send Me--to this end, That I should render, for my part, A thankful heart.

_--R. Herrick_

FRIENDS DEPARTED

They are all gone into the world of light!

And I alone sit lingering here!

Their very memory is fair and bright, And my sad thoughts doth clear.

It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast Like stars upon some gloomy grove, Or those faint beams in which this hill is drest After the Sun's remove.

I see them walking in an air of glory, Whose light doth trample on my days; My days, which are at best but dull and h.o.a.ry, Mere glimmerings and decays.

O holy hope! and high humility!

High as the Heavens above!

These are your walks, and you have show'd them me, To kindle my cold love.

Dear, beauteous Death; the jewel of the just!

Shining nowhere but in the dark; What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust, Could man outlook that mark!

He that hath found some fledged birdes nest may know At first sight if the bird be flown; But what fair dell or grove he sings in now, That is to him unknown.

And yet, as Angels in some brighter dreams Call to the soul when man doth sleep, So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes, And into glory peep.

_--H. Vaughan_

THE LAND OF DREAMS

"Awake, awake, my little boy!

Thou wast thy mother's only joy; Why dost thou weep in thy gentle sleep?

O wake! thy father does thee keep."

--"O what land is the Land of Dreams?

What are its mountains, and what are its streams?

O father! I saw my mother there Among the lilies by waters fair.

"Among the lambs, clothed in white, She walk'd with her Thomas in sweet delight: I wept for joy; like a dove I mourn:-- O when shall I again return!"

--"Dear child! I also by pleasant streams Have wander'd all night in the Land of Dreams:-- But, though calm and warm the waters wide, I could not get to the other side."

--"Father, O father! what do we here, In this land of unbelief and fear?-- The Land of Dreams is better far, Above the light of the morning star."

_--W. Blake_

ADORATION

Sweet is the dew that falls betimes, And drops upon the leafy limes; Sweet Hermon's fragrant air: Sweet is the lily's silver bell, And sweet the wakeful tapers smell That watch for early prayer.

Sweet the young nurse, with love intense, Which smiles o'er sleeping innocence; Sweet when the lost arrive; Sweet the musician's ardor beats, While his vague mind's in quest of sweets, The choicest flowers to hive.

Strong is the horse upon his speed; Strong in pursuit the rapid glede, Which makes at once his game: Strong the tall ostrich on the ground; Strong through the turbulent profound Shoots xiphias to his aim.

Strong is the lion--like a coal His eyeball--like a bastion's mole His chest against the foes: Strong the gier-eagle on his sail; Strong against tide the enormous whale Emerges as he goes.

But stronger still, in earth and air, And in sea, the man of prayer, And far beneath the tide: And in the seat to Faith a.s.sign'd, Where ask is, have; where seek is, find; Where knock is, open wide.

_--C. Smart_