THE PRIEST. 749 Together we have now Begun another year; But how much time Thou wilt allow Thou mak'st it not appear. We, therefore, do implore That live and love we may, Still so as if but one day more Together we should stay. Let each of other's wealth Preserve a faithful care, And of each other's joy and health Our everlasting leave. The frowardness that springs From our corrupted kind, Or from those troublous outward things Which may distract the mind, Permit Thou not, O Lord, Our constant love to shake Or to disturb our true accord, Or make our hearts to ache. But let these frailties prove Affection's exercise; And that discretion teach our love Which wins the noblest prize. So time, which wears away, And ruins all things else, Shall fix our love on Thee for aye, In whom perfection dwells. GEORGE WITHER. DEDICATION OF A CHURCH. JERUSALEM, that place divine, She, decked in new attire from heaven, Her walls, wherewith she is inclosed, The gates, adorned with pearls most bright, All those who are on earth distressed fessed. These stones the workmen dress and beat Before they throughly polished are; Then each is in his proper seat Established by the Builder's care In this fair frame to stand for ever, So joined that them no force can sever. To God, who sits in highest seat, To Father, Son, and Paraclete, Whose boundless power we still adore, THE PRIEST. I WOULD I were an excellent divine How God doth make His enemies His Rather than with a thundering and long prayer Be led into presumption, or despair. This would I be, and would none other be— And willingly to suffer mercy's rodJoy in His grace, and live but in His love, And seek my bliss but in the world above. And I would frame a kind of faithful prayer, For all estates within the state of grace, That careful love might never know despair Nor servile fear might faithful love deface And this would I both day and night devise To make my humble spirit's exercise. And I would read the rules of sacred life; Hold but this book before your heartLet prayer alone to play his part. But O! the heart That studies this high art Must be a sure house-keeper, That love might live, and quarrels all might And yet no sleeper. THE TRUE USE OF MUSIC. 751 Delicious deaths, soft exhalations Of soul, dear and divine annihilations A thousand unknown rites Of joys, and rarified delights- Which the divine embraces Of the dear Spouse of spirits with them will bring, For which it is no shame That dull mortality must not know a name. Of blessings, and ten thousand more, He find the heart from home, Doubtless He will unload Himself some otherwhere, And pour abroad His precious sweets On the fair soul whom first He meets. O fair! O fortunate! O rich! O dear! Whoe'er she be Whose early love With winged vows Makes haste to meet her Morning Spouse, Happy soul! who never misses Seize her sweet prey All fresh and fragrant as He rises, O! let that happy soul hold fast She shall have power To rifle and deflower The rich and roseal spring of those rare sweets Which, with a swelling bosom, there she meets Boundless and infinite, bottomless treasures Of pure inebriating pleasures: Happy soul! she shall discover What joy, what bliss, RICHARD CRASHAW. THE TRUE USE OF MUSIC. LISTED into the cause of sin, Why should a good be evil? Music, alas! too long has been Pressed to obey the devil-Drunken, or lewd, or light, the lay Flowed to the soul's undoing Widened, and strewed with flowers, the way Down to eternal ruin. Who on the part of God will rise, Fly on the prey, and take the prize, Rescue the holy pleasure? Come let us try if Jesus' love Jesus' name is sweeter. Jesus the soul of music is His is the noblest passion; Jesus's name is joy and peace, Happiness and salvation; Jesus's name the dead can raise Show us our sins forgivenFill us with all the life of graceCarry us up to heaven. Who hath a right like us to sing Us whom His mercy raises? Merry our hearts, for Christ is King; Cheerful are all our faces; Who of His love doth once partake He evermore rejoices; He that a sprinkled conscience hath- Let him sing psalms, the Spirit saith, Joyful and never weary; |