SOUL AND BODY. OOR soul, the centre of my sinful earth, Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth, Painting thy outward walls so costly gay? Eat up thy charge? is this thy body's end? So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men, CONTENT. H, sweet Content, where is thy mild abode? Tending their flocks and cattle on the plains? The minds and hearts of every living thing? Ah, sweet Content, where doth thine harbour hold? Is it in churches with religious men Which please the gods with prayers manifold, And in their studies meditate it then? Whether thou dost in heaven or earth appear, Be where thou wilt, thou wilt not harbour here. BARNABE BARNES. THE TALENT. RACIOUS, Divine, and most Omnipotent ! It to best use he could, when it was lent: I know my fault, I did not as I should; Let not my little nothing be withheld From Thy rich treasuries of endless grace; BARNABE Barnes. TO DEATH. EATH, be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so; For those, whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow, Die not, poor Death; nor yet canst thou kill me. From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be, Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow; And soonest our best men with thee do go, Rest of their bones, and souls' delivery. Thou'rt slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men, And death shall be no more-Death, thou shalt die. JOHN DONNE. MARY MAGDALEN. HESE Eyes (dear Lord) once brandons1 of desire, Frail scouts betraying what they had to keep, Which their own heart, then others set on fire, Their traitrous black before Thee here out-weep: These Locks, of blushing deeds the fair attire, Smooth-frizzled waves, sad shelves which shadow deep, In seas of Care behold a sinking Bark, By winds of sharp Remorse unto Thee driven, My faults confest,-Lord, say they are forgiven." His tear-wet feet still drying with her hair. WILLIAM DRUMMOND. 1 Torches |