May his crown, like his hopes be The church's love-feasts; time's pre And, what he saves, may his foes clay; spend! rogative, And interest Being laid, and dressed for sleep, close | And the great task to try, then know, not thy eyes Up with thy curtains; give thy soul the wing In some good thoughts; so when thy day shall rise, And thou unrakest thy fire, those sparks will bring New flames; besides where these lodge, vain heats mourn And die; that bush, where God is, shall not burn. TO HIS BOOKS. BRIGHT books! the pérspectives to our weak sights, The clear projections of discerning lights, Burning and shining thoughts, man's posthume day, The track of fled souls, and their milky way, voice The dead alive and busy, the still Of enlarged spirits, kind Heaven's white decoys! Who lives with you lives like those knowing flowers, Which in commérce with light spend all their hours; Which shut to clouds, and shadows nicely shun, But with glad haste unveil to kiss the sun. (night, Beneath you all is dark, and a dead Which whoso lives in, wants both health and sight. By sucking you, the wise, like bees, do grow Healing and rich, though this they do most slow, Because most choicely; for as great a store Have we of books as bees of herbs, or more: To Is the good, discern weeds, and judge of wholesome food, a rare scant performance. man dies For |