Her gingling fetters, and begins to bate
At ev'ry glimpse, and darts at ev'ry grate :
E'en so my weary soul, that long has been
An inmate in this tenement of sin,
Lock'd up by cloud-brow'd error, which invites
My cloister'd thoughts to feed on black delights,
Now scorns her shadows, and begins to dart
Her wing'd desires at thee, that only art
The sun she seeks, whose rising beams can fright
These dusky clouds that make so dark a night:
Shine forth, great glory, shine; that I may see
Both how to loathe myself, and honour thee:
But if my weakness force thee to deny
Thy flames, yet lend the twilight of thine eye:
If I must want those beams I wish, yet grant
That I, at least, may wish those beams I want.
S. AUGUST, Soliloq. Cap. xxxiii.
There was a great dark cloud of vanity before mine eyes, so that I could not see the sun of justice and the light of truth: I being the son of darkness, was involved in darkness: I loved my darkness, because I knew not thy light: I was blind, and loved my blindness, and did walk from darkness to darkness; but, LORD, thou art my God, who hast led me from darkness and the shadow of death; hast called me into this glorious light, and behold, I see.
My soul, cheer up; what if the night be long? Heav'n finds an ear when sinners find a tongue; Thy tears are morning show'rs: Heav'n bids me
When Peter's cock begins to crow, 'tis day.
O Lord, thou knowest my foolishness, and my sins are not hid from thee.
SEEST thou this fulsome idiot: in what measure He seems transported with the antic pleasure Of childish baubles? Canst thou but admire The empty fulness of his vain desire?
Canst thou conceive such poor delights as these
Can fill th' insatiate soul of man, or please
The fond aspect of his deluded eye?
Reader, such very fools art thou and I:
False puffs of honour; the deceitful streams
Of wealth; the idle, vain, and empty dreams
Of pleasure, are our traffic, and ensnare
Our souls, the threefold subject of our care;
We toil for trash, we barter solid joys
For airy trifles, sell our Heav'n for toys:
We catch at barley-grains, whilst pearls stand by
Despis'd; such very fools art thou and I.
Aim'st thou at honour? does not the idiot shake it
In his left hand? fond man, step forth and take it:
Or would'st thou wealth? see now the fool pre-
sents thee
With a full basket, if such wealth contents thee:
Would'st thou take pleasure? if the fool unstride
His prancing stallion, thou may'st up, and ride:
Fond man, such is the pleasure, wealth, and honour
The earth affords such fools as dote upon her;
Such is the game whereat earth's idiots fly;
Such idiots, ah! such fools art thou and I:
Had rebel man's fool-hardiness extended
No farther than himself, and there had ended,
It had been just; but thus enrag'd to fly
Upon th' eternal eyes of Majesty,
And drag the Son of Glory from the breast
Of his indulgent Father; to arrest
His great and sacred person; in disgrace
To spit and spawl upon his sun-bright face;
To taunt him with base terms, and, being bound, To scourge his soft, his trembling sides; to wound His head with thorns; his heart with human fears; His hands with nails, and his pale flank with
And then to paddle in the purer stream
Of his spilt blood, is more than most extreme:
Great Builder of Mankind, canst thou propound
All this to thy bright eyes, and not confound
Thy handy work? O! canst thou choose but see,
That mad'st the eye? can aught be hid from thee?
Thou seest our persons, LORD, and not our guilt
Thou seest not what thou may'st, but what thou
The hand that form'd us is enforc'd to be
A screen set up betwixt thy work and thee:
Look, look upon that hand, and thou shalt spy
An open wound, a thoroughfare for thine eye;
Or if that wound be clos'd, that passage be
Denied between thy gracious eye and me,
Yet view the scar; that scar will countermand
Thy wrath: O read my fortune in thy hand.
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