For zeal like her's her servants were too slow;
She was the first, where need requir'd, to go ;
Herself the foundress and attendant too.
Sure she had guests sometimes to entertain, Guests in disguise, of her great Master's train: Her Lord himself might come, for aught we know, Since in a servant's form he liv'd below: Beneath her roof he might be pleas'd to stay; Or some benighted angel, in his way, Might ease his wings, and, seeing heav'n appear In its best work of mercy, think it there : Where all the deeds of charity and love Were in as constant method as above, All carried on; all of a piece with theirs ; As free her alms, as diligent her cares ; As loud her praises, and as warm her pray'rs.
Yet was she not profuse; but fear'd to waste, And wisely manag'd, that the stock might last: That all might be supply'd, and she not grieve, When crowds appear'd, she had not to relieve : Which to prevent, she still increas'd her store; Laid up, and spar'd, that she might give the more. So Pharaoh, or some greater king than he, Provided for the seventh necessity; Taught from above his magazines to frame, That famine was prevented ere it came.
Thus Heav'n, tho' all-sufficient, shews a thrift
In his economy, and bounds his gift;
Creating, for our day, one single light,
And his reflection, too, supplies the night.
Perhaps a thousand other worlds, that lie
Remote from us, and latent in the sky,
Are lighten'd by his beams, and kindly nurst,
Of which our earthly dunghill is the worst.
Now as all virtues keep the middle line,
Yet somewhat more to one extreme incline,
Such was her soul, abhorring avarice;
Bounteous, but almost bounteous to a vice:
Had she giv'n more, it had profusion been,
And turn'd th' excess of goodness into sin.
These virtues rais'd her fabric to the sky,
For that which is next Heav'n is charity.
But, as high turrets, for their airy steep,
Require foundations, in proportion deep;
And lofty cedars as far upwards shoot,
As to the nether heavens they drive the root;
So low did her secure foundation lie,
She was not humble, but humility.
Scarcely she knew that she was great or fair,
Or wise beyond what other women are,
Or, which is better, knew, but never durst compare:
For to be conscious of what all admire,
And not be vain, advances virtue higher.
But still she found, or rather thought she found,
Her own worth wanting, others to abound;
Ascrib'd above their due to ev'ry one,
Unjust and scanty to herself alone.
Such her devotion was, as might give rules
Of speculation to disputing schools,
And teach us equally the scales to hold
Betwixt the two extremes of hot and cold;
That pious heat may mod❜rately prevail,
And we be warm'd, but not be scorch'd, with zeal.
Bus'ness might shorten, not disturb, her pray'r;
Heav'n had the best, if not the greater share.
An active life long oraisons forbids;
Yet still she pray'd, for still she pray'd by deeds. 115
Her ev'ry day was Sabbath; only free
From hours of pray'r, for hours of charity.
Such as the Jews from servile toil releast,
Where works of mercy were a part of rest;
Such as blest angels exercise above,
Vary'd with sacred hymns and acts of love:
Such Sabbaths as that one she now enjoys,
E'en that perpetual one, which she employs,
(For such vicissitudes in heav'n there are)
In praise alternate, and alternate pray’r.
All this she practis'd here, that when she sprung
Amidst the choirs, at the first sight she sung:
Sung, and was sung herself in angels' lays; -
For praising her they did her Maker praise.
All offices of heav'n so well she knew
Before she came, that nothing there was new;
And she was so familiarly receiv'd,
As one returning, not as one arriv'd.
Muse! down again precipitate thy flight,
For how can mortal eyes sustain immortal light?
But as the sun in water we can bear,
Yet not the sun, but his reflection, there,
So let us view her, here, in what she was,
And take her image in this wat❜ry glass.
Yet look not ev'ry lineament to see;
Some will be cast in shades, and some will be
So lamely drawn, you'll scarcely know 'tis she:
For where such various virtues we recite,
'Tis like the Milky way, all over bright, [light.
But sown so thick with stars, 'tis undistinguish'd
Her virtue, not her virtues, let us call,
For one heroic comprehends 'em all:
One, as a constellation is but one,
Tho' 'tis a train of stars that, rolling on,
Rise in their turn, and in the zodiac run,
Ever in motion; now 'tis faith ascends,
Now hope, now charity, that upward tends,
And downwards with diffusive good descends.
As in perfumes, compos'd with art and cost,
'Tis hard to say what scent is uppermost ;
Nor this part musk or civet, can we call,
Or amber, but a rich result of all ;
So she was all a sweet, whose ev'ry part,
In due proportion mix'd, proclaim'd the Maker's art.
No single virtue we could most commend,
Whether the wife, the mother, or the friend;"
Foe she was all, in that supreme degree,
That as no one prevail'd, so all was she.
The sev'ral parts lay hidden in the piece;
Th' occasion but exerted that or this.
A wife as tender, and as true withal,
As the first woman was before her fall;
Made for the man, of whom she was a part,
Made to attract his eyes, and keep his heart.
A second Eve, but by no crime accurst;
As beauteous, not as brittle, as the first,
Had she been first, still Paradise had been,
And Death had found no entrance by her sin.
So she not only had preserv'd from ill
Her sex and our's, but liv'd their pattern still. 175
Love and obedience to her lord she bore;
She much obey'd him, but she lov'd him more:
Not aw'd to duty by superior sway,
But taught by his indulgence to obey.
Thus we love God, as author of our good;
So subjects love just kings, or so they should.
Nor was it with ingratitude return'd;
In equal fires the blissful couple burn'd; [mourn'd.
One joy possess'd 'em both, and in one griel they
His passion still improv'd! he lov'd so fast,
As if he fear'd each day would be her last.
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