Where shall I sojourn? what kind sea will hide My head from thunder? where shall I abide, Until his flames be quench'd or laid aside?

What, if my feet should take their hasty flight, And seek protection in the shades of night? Alas! no shades can blind the 'GOD of light.

What if my soul should take the wings of day, And find some desert? If she springs away, The wings of vengeance clip as fast as they.

What, if some solid rock should entertain
My frighted soul? can solid rocks restrain
The stroke of Justice, and not cleave in twain?

Nor sea, nor shade, nor shield, nor rock, nor cave,
Nor silent deserts, nor the sullen grave,
What flame-ey'd fury means to smite, can save.

The seas will part, graves open, rocks will split; The shield will cleave; the frighted shadows flit; Where Justice aims, her fiery darts must hit.

No,no,if stern-brow'd vengeance means to thunder,
There is no place above, beneath, or under,
So close, but will unlock, or rive in sunder.

'Tis vain to flee; 'tis neither here nor there Can 'scape that hand, until that hand forbear; Ah me! where is he not, that's ev'rywhere?

'Tis vain to flee, till gentle mercy show
Her better eye; the farther off we go,
The swing of Justice deals the mightier blow.

Th' ingenuous child, corrected, doth not fly
His angry mother's hand, but clings more nigh,
And quenches with his tears her flaming eye.

Shadows are faithless, and the rocks are false
No trust in brass, no trust in marble walls;
Poor cots are e'en as safe as princes' halls.

Great GOD! there is no safety here below; Thou art my fortress, thou that seem'st my foe, "Tis thou, that strik'st the stroke, must guard the blow.

Thou art my GOD, by thee I fall or stand;
Thy grace hath giv'n me courage to withstand
All tortures, but my conscience and thy hand.

I know thy justice is thyself; I know,
Just GOD, thy very self is mercy too;
If not to thee, where, whither shall I go?

Then work thy will; if passion bid me flee,
My reason shall obey; my wings shall be
Stretch'd out no further than from thee to thee.

S. AUGUST. in Psalm xxxiii.

Whither fly I? to what place can I safely fly? to what mountain? to what den? to what strong house? what castle shall I hold? what walls shall hold me? whithersoever I go, myself followeth me: For whatsoever thou fliest, O man, thou mayest, but thy own conscience: wheresoever, O LORD, I go, I find thee; if angry, a revenger; if appeased, a redeemer: what way have I, but to fly from thee to thee: that thou mayest avoid thy GOD, address to thy LORD.

EPIG. 12.

Hath vengeance found thee? can thy fears command

No rocks to shield thee from her thund'ring hand? Know'st thou not where to 'scape? I'll tell thee where;

My soul, make clean thy conscience; hide thee there.

Are not my days few? Cease then, and let me alone, that I may bewail myself a little.

My glass is half unspent; forbear t' arrest
My thriftless day too soon: my poor request
Is, that my glass may run but out the rest.

My time-devoured minutes will be done Without thy help; see, see how swift they run: Cut not my thread before my thread be spun.

The gain's not great I purchase by this stay;
What loss sustain'st thou by so small delay,
To whom ten thousand years are but a day?

My following eye can hardly make a shift
To count my winged hours; they fly so swift,
They scarce deserve the bounteous name of gift.

The secret wheels of hurrying time do give
So short a warning, and so fast they drive,
That I am dead before I seem to live.

And what's a life? a weary pilgrimage,
Whose glory in one day doth fill thy stage
With childhood, manhood, and decrepid age.

And what's a life? the flourishing array
Of the proud summer meadow, which to-day
Wears her green plush, and is to-morrow hay.

And what's a life? a blast sustain'd with clothing, Maintain'd with food, retain'd with vile self-loathThen weary of itself, again to nothing.

Read on this dial, how the shades devour

[ing,

My short-liv'd winter's day; hour eats up hour; Alas! the total's but from eight to four.