Henry Charles Beeching, ed. (1859–1919). Lyra Sacra: A Book of Religious Verse. 1903.
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COLLECT 1 thy soul into one sphere | |
Of light, and ’bove the earth it rear: | |
Those wild scatter’d thoughts that erst | |
Lay loosely in the world dispersed, | |
Call in: thy spirit thus knit in one | 5 |
Fair lucid orb, thy fears be gone | |
Like vain impostures of the night | |
That fly before the morning bright. | |
Then with pure eyes thou shalt behold | |
How the First Goodness doth infold | 10 |
All things in loving tender arms; | |
That deemèd mischiefs are no harms, | |
But sovereign salves and skilful cures | |
Of greater woes the world endures; | |
That man’s stout soul may win a state | 15 |
Far raised above the reach of Fate. | |
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Then wilt thou say, God rules the world, | |
Though mountain over mountain hurled | |
Be pitch’d amid the foaming main, | |
Which busy winds to wrath constrain; | 20 |
Though inward tempests fiercely rock | |
The tott’ring earth, that with the shock | |
High spires and heavy rocks fall down, | |
With their own weight drove into ground; | |
Though pitchy blasts from hell upborne | 25 |
Stop the outgoings of the morn, | |
And Nature play her fiery games | |
In this forced night with fulgurant flames; | |
Baring by fits for more affright | |
The pale dead visages, ghastly sight, | 30 |
Of men astonish’d at the stoure | |
Of heaven’s great rage, the rattling shower | |
Of hail, the hoarse bellowing of thunder, | |
Their own loud shrieks made mad with wonder; | |
All this confusion cannot move | 35 |
The purgèd mind, freed from the love | |
Of commerce with her body dear, | |
Cell of sad thoughts, sole spring of fear. | |
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Power, Wisdom, Goodness sure did frame | |
This universe and still guide the same. | 40 |
But thoughts from passions sprung, deceive | |
Vain mortals. No man can contrive | |
A better course than what’s been run | |
Since the first circuit of the sun. | |
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He that beholds all from on high | 45 |
Knows better what to do than I. | |
I’m not mine own: should I repine | |
If He dispose of what’s not mine? | |
Purge but thy soul of blind self-will, | |
Thou straight shall see God doth no ill. | 50 |
The world He fills with the bright rays | |
Of His free goodness. He displays | |
Himself throughout. Like common air | |
That Spirit of Life through all doth fare, | |
Sucked in by them as vital breath | 55 |
That willingly embrace not death. | |
But those that with that living law | |
Be unacquainted, cares do gnaw; | |
Mistrust of God’s good providence | |
Doth daily vex their wearied sense. | 60 |