Am I so thorough wise to choose
The other world, and this refuse?

VIII.

Why should I not? What do I find
That fully here contents my mind?

What is this meat, and drink, and sleep,

That such poor things from heaven should keep?

IX.

What is this honour, or great place,

Or bag of money, or fair face?

What's all the world, that thus we should
Still long to dwell with flesh and blood?

X.

Fear not, my soul; stand to thy word,
Which thou hast sung to thy dear Lord;
Let but thy love be firm and true,
And with more heat thy wish renew.

XI.

Oh may this dying life make haste
To die into true life at last;

No hope have I to live before,
But then to live, and die no more.

XII.

Great, ever-living God, to Thee,
In essence one, in Persons three;
May all Thy works their tribute bring,
And every age Thy glory sing.

Amen.

A COMMENDATORY PRAYER FOR A SICK PER

SON AT THE POINT OF DEPARTURE.

℗ Almighty God, with whom do live the spirits of just men made perfect, after they are delivered from their earthly prisons; We humbly commend the soul of this Thy servant, our dear brother, into Thy hands, as into the hands of a faithful Creator, and most merciful Saviour; most humbly beseeching Thee, that it may be precious in Thy sight.

ash it, we pray Thee, in the blood of that immaculate Lamb, that was slain to take away the sins of the world; that whatsoever defilements it may have contracted in the midst of this miserable and naughty world, through the lusts of the flesh, or the wiles of Satan, being purged and done away, it may be presented pure and without spot before Thee. And teach us who survive, in this and other like daily spectacles of mortality, to see how frail and uncertain our own condition is; and so to number our days, that we may seriously apply our hearts to that holy and heavenly wisdom, whilst we live here, which may in the end bring us to life everlasting, through the merits of Jesus Christ Thine only Son our Lord. Amen.

℗ Almighty God, with whom do live the spirits of just men made perfect, after they are delivered from their earthly prisons ;

You

Habington.

U spirits, that have thrown away
That envious weight of clay,
Which your celestial flight denyed;
Who by your glorious troopes supply
The winged hierarchie,

So broken in the angells' pride.

O you, whom your Creator's sight
Inebriates with delight;

Sing forth the triumphs of His name,
All you enamored soules; agree
In a loud symphonie,

To give expression to your flame.

To Him His owne works relate,

Who daigned to elevate

You 'bove the frailtie of your birth;

Where you stand safe from that rude warre,

With which we troubled are

By the rebellion of our earth.

While a corrupted air beneath

Here in this world we breathe,

Each hour some passion us assailes :
Now lust casts wild fire in the blood,

Or, that it may seeme good,
Itselfe in wit or beauty vailes.

Then envie circles us with hate,
And layes a siege so streight,
No heavenly succour enters in:
But, if revenge admittance finde,
For ever hath the mind

Made forfeit of itselfe to sinne.

Assaulted thus, how dare we raise
Our minds to thinke His praise,
Who is eternall and immense?
How dare we force our feeble wit
To speak Him infinite,

So farre above the search of sence?

O you who are immaculate,
His name may celebrate

In your soules' bright expansion:
You whom your vertues did unite

To His perpetual light,

That even with Him you now shine one.

While we, who t'earth contract our hearts,

And only studie arts

To shorten the sad length of time:

In place of joyes, bring humble feares;

For hymnes, repentant teares;

And a new sigh for every crime.

Almighty God, with whom do live the spirits of just men made perfect, after they are delivered from their earthly prisons;

DESIRE OF HEAVEN.

Ascribed to Francis Taylor.

LONG to be installed in the throne
Of endless glory; let thy spirit groan

After a full and plenary possession

Of blessedness transcending all expression.
Be like the bird of Paradise, which (they say)
Being entangled in the snare, straightway
Begins to strive, and never giveth o'er
Till she enjoy her freedom as before.

Sing Simeon's swan-like song at his decease-
"Lord, let Thy servant now depart in peace."
Welcome the messenger of death, which brings
Most joyful tidings from the King of kings;
Which tells the saints of an approaching crown
Of matchless glory, honour, and renown.
Death is the chariot, which without delay,
Saints to their Father's house bears swift away.
Death is, to humble penitents, no less
Than a short entrance into happiness.
Death is the saints' ascension, day of bliss,
Their marriage-day with Jesus Christ it is.
Death is the charter of their liberty,
The period of their pain and misery :