More than to beasts that grovel? are not they Do they not taste thee? hear thee? nay, what sense What more do we? alas! what serves our reason, How often hath my patience built, dear LORD, Thy face, why didst thou make mine eyes so bold Why dost thou give me so unpriz'd a treasure, If those refulgent beams of Heav'n's great light The birds are sullen, and the beasts are sad: The jolly shepherd pipes; flow'rs freshly spring; S. AUGUST. in Psalm xxxix. Who created all things, is better than all things: who beautified all things, is more beautiful than all things: who made strength, is stronger than all things: who made great things, is greater than all things: whatsoever thou lovest, he is that to thee: learn to love the workman in his work, the Creator in his creature: let not that which was made by him possess thee, lest thou lose him by whom thyself was made. S. AUGUST. Med. Cap. xxxvii. O thou most sweet, most gracious, most amiable, most fair, when shall I see thee? when shall I be satisfied with thy beauty? when wilt thou lead me from this dark dungeon, that I may confess thy name? EPIG. 12. How art thou shaded, in this veil of night, Behind thy curtain flesh? thou seest no light, But what thy pride doth challenge as her own; Thy flesh is high: Soul, take this curtain down. O that I had wings like a dove, for then would I fly away, and be at rest! AND am I sworn a dunghill-slave for ever U My soul earth's 'prentice, with no clause to leave her? No day of freedom? Must I ever grind? O that I had the pinions of a dove, That I might quit my bands, and soar above, And pour my just complaints before the great JEHOVE! How happy are the doves, that have the pow'r Leaves earth, and then for joy mounts up and sings! Had my dull soul but wings as well as they, How I would spring from earth, and clip away, As wise Astræa did, and scorn this ball of clay! O how my soul would spurn this ball of clay, And loathe the dainties of earth's painful pleasure! O how I'd laugh to see men night and day Turmoil to gain that trash, they call their treasure! O how I'd smile to see what plots they lay How I would soar and sing, and hate the love Of transitory toys, and feed on joys above! |