Howe'er I rest, great God, let me
Awake again at last with Thee.
And thus assur'd, behold I lie
Securely, or to wake or die.

These are my drowsy days; in vain
I do now wake to sleep again :

O come that hour, when I shall never
Sleep again, but wake for ever.

SIR THOMAS BROWNE.

Right unto Night Teacheth knowledge."

WHEN I survey the bright
Celestial sphere,

So rich with jewels hung, that Night
Doth like an Ethiop bride appear,

My soul her wings doth spread,
And heavenward flies,

The Almighty's mysteries to read
In the large volume of the skies ;

For the bright firmament
Shoots forth no flame

So silent, but is eloquent

In speaking the Creator's name.

No unregarded star
Contracts its light

Into so small a character,

Removed far from our human sight,

But if we stedfast look,

We shall discern

In it, as in some holy book,

How man may heavenly knowledge learn.

It tells the conqueror,

That far-stretched power,

Which his proud dangers traffic for,
Is but the triumph of an hour;

That from the farthest north,
Some nation may,

Yet undiscovered, issue forth,
And o'er his new-got conquest sway.

And then they likewise shall
Their ruin brave;

For, as yourselves, your empires fall,
And every kingdom hath a grave.

Thus those celestial fires,

Though seeming mute,

The fallacy of our desires,

And all the pride of life, confute;

For they have watched since first
The world had birth,

And found sin in itself accurst,

And nothing permanent on earth.

There was a king.

THERE was a King of old

That did in Jewry dwell;

Whether a God, or man, or both,

I'm sure I love him well.

HABINGTON.

Love Him! why, who doth not?
Did ever any wight

Not goodness, beauty, sweetness, love-
Not comfort, love, and light?

None ever did, or can;

But here's the cause alone

Why He of all few lovers finds,
Because He is not known.

There are so many fair,
He's lost among the throng,

Yet they that seek Him nowhere else,
May find Him in a song.

This King, then, was a man,

Whose mother was a maid;

Himself was God, and if you doubt,
Himself His mother made.

A wonder sure it was,

But so is all the rest:

For whilst she bore Him in her womb, She wore Him on her breast.

A King He was so high,

As by Him all kings reign;

Yet was His pomp not very great;
Twelve was His usual train.

And though no other prince

Did give a better pay,

Yet when He stood in greatest need

His subjects ran away.

This King He was a Priest,
He was the sacrifice;
And He also the altar was,
The gift that sanctifies.

And though the sacrifice
The priests did ever eat,
The altar, sacrifice, and Priest,
And all here made our meat.

This God, Man, King, and Priest,
Almighty was, yet meek:

He was most just, yet merciful;
The guilty did Him seek.

He never any failed

That sought Him in their need:

He never quenched the smoking flax, Nor brake the bruised reed.

He was the truest Friend

That ever any tried,

For whom He loved He never left,

For them He lived and died.

And if you'd know the folk
That brought Him to His end,
Read but His title, you shall find
Him styled the sinner's Friend.

His life all wonder was,
But here's a wonder more,

That He who was all life and love,
Should be beloved no more.

L

I'll love Him while I live;
To those that be His foes,

Though I them hate, I'll wish no worse
Than His dear love to lose.

ANON.

Show Me more Lobe.

SHOW me more love, my dearest Lord,
Oh, turn away Thy clouded face;
Give me some secret look or word
That may betoken love and grace;
No day or time is black to me
But that wherein I see not Thee.
Show me more love, a clouded face
Strikes deeper than an angry blow;
Love me and kill me by Thy grace,
I shall not much bewail my woe.
But even to be

In heaven, unloved of Thee,
Were hell in heaven for to see.

Then hear my cry and help afford;
Show me more love, my dearest Lord.
Show me more love, my dearest Lord-
I cannot think, nor speak, nor pray;
Thy work stands still, my strength is stored
In Thee alone. Oh, come away!
Show me Thy beauties, call them mine,
My heart and tongue will soon be Thine.
Show me more love, or if my heart
Too common be for such a guest,
Let Thy good Spirit, by His art,
Make entry, and put out the rest.