THE CURB.

PEACE, rebel thought: dost thou not know thy King, My God, is here?

Cannot his presence, if no other thing,

Make thee forbear?

Or were he absent, all the standers by
Are but his spies:

And well he knows, if thou shouldst it deny,
Thy words were lies.

If others will not, yet I must, and will,
Myself complain.

My God, even now a base rebellious thought
Began to move,

And subt❜ly twining with me would have wrought
Me from thy love:

Fain he would have me to believe, that Sin
And thou might both

Take up my heart together for your Inn,
And neither loathe

The other's company: a while sit still,
And part again.

Tell me, my God, how this may be redrest :
The fault is great,

And I the guilty party have confest,
I must be beat.

And I refuse not punishment for this,

Though to my pain;

So I may learn to do no more amiss,

Nor sin again:

K

Correct me, if thou wilt; but teach me then,
What I shall do.

Lord of my life, methinks I heard thee say,
That labour's eased:

The fault, that is confess'd, is done away,
And thou art pleased.

How can I sin again, and wrong thee then,
That dost relent,

And cease thine anger straight, as soon as men
Do but repent?

No, rebel thought; for if thou move again,
I'll tell that too.

WHITHER, oh! whither is my Lord departed? What can my Love, that is so tender-hearted, Forsake the soul, which once he thorough darted, As if it never smarted?

No, sure my Love is here, if I could find him : He that fills all can leave no place behind him. But oh my senses are too weak to wind him : Or else I do not mind him.

O no, I mind him not so as I ought;
Nor seek him so as I by him was sought,
When I had lost myself: he dearly bought

Me, that was sold for naught.

But I have wounded him, that made me sound;
Lost him again, by whom I first was found:
Him, that exalted me, have cast to th' ground;
My sins his blood have drown'd.

Tell me, oh! tell me (thou alone canst tell), Lord of my life, where thou art gone to dwell: For, in thy absence heaven itself is hell:

Without thee none is well.

Or, if thou beest not gone, but only hid'st
Thy presence in the place where thou abid'st,
Teach me the sacred art, which thou provid'st
For all them, whom thou guid'st,

To seek and find thee by. Else here I'll lie,
Until thou find me. If thou let me die,
That only unto thee for life do cry,
Thou diest as well as I.

For, if thou live in me, and I in thee,
Then either both alive, or dead must be:
At least I'll lay my death on thee, and see
If thou wilt not agree.

For, though thou be the Judge thyself, I have Thy promise for it, which thou canst not wave, That who salvation at thine hands do crave,

Thou wilt not fail to save.

Oh! seek, and find me then; or else deny
Thy truth, thyself. Oh! thou that canst not lie,
Show thyself constant to thy word, draw nigh.
Find me. Lo, here I lie.

THE RETURN.

Lo, now my Love appears;
My tears

Have clear'd mine eyes: I see

"Tis he.

Thanks, blessed Lord, thine absence was my hell; And, now thou art returnèd, I am well.

By this I see I must
Not trust

My joys unto myself:
This shelf,

Of too secure, and too presumptuous pleasure,
Had almost sunk my ship, and drown'd my treasure.

Who would have thought a joy

So coy

To be offended so,

And go

So suddenly away? As if enjoying
Full pleasure and contentment, were annoying.

Hereafter I had need

Take heed.

Joys, amongst other things,

Have wings,