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Adopted in God's family, and so

My old coat lost, into new arms I go.
The cross my seal in baptism spread below,
Does by that form into an anchor grow.
Crosses grow anchors; bear as thou should'st do
Thy cross, and that cross grows an anchor too.
But he that makes our crosses anchors thus,
Is Christ; who there is crucified for us.

Yet with this I may my first serpents hold:
(God gives new blessings, and yet leaves the old)
The serpent may as wise my pattern be;

My poison, as he feeds on dust, that's me.
And, as he rounds the earth to murder, sure
He is my death; but on the cross my cure.
Crucify nature then; and then implore

All grace from him, crucified there before.
When all is cross, and that cross anchor grown,
This seal's a catechism, not a seal alone.
Under that little seal great gifts I send,

Both works and prayers, pawns and fruits of a friend.

Oh may that saint that rides on our great seal,

Το you that bear his name large bounty deal.

JOHN DONNE.

IN SACRAM ANCHORAM PISCATORIS; GEORGE HERBERT.

Quod crux nequibat fixa clavique additi,

Tenere Christum scilicet ne ascenderet

Tuive Christum

Although the cross could not Christ here detain,
When nail'd unto 't, but he ascends again :

Nor yet thy eloquence here keep him still,
But only whilest thou speak'st; this anchor will :
Nor canst thou be content unless thou to

This certain anchor add a seal, and so
The water and the earth, both unto thee
Do owe the symbol of their certainty.

Let the world reel, we and all ours stand sure,
This holy cable's from all storms secure.

GEORGE HERbert.

I return to tell the reader, that besides these verses to his dear Mr. Herbert, and that hymn that I mentioned to be sung in the quire of St. Paul's church; he did also shorten and beguile many sad hours by composing other sacred ditties; and he writ an hymn on his death-bed, which bears this title.

AN HYMN TO GOD, MY GOD, IN MY SICKNESS,
March 23, 1630.

Since I am coming to that holy room,
Where, with thy quire of saints for evermore
I shall be made thy music, as I come
I tune my instrument here at the door,
And, what I must do then, think here before.

Since my physicians by their loves are grown
Cosmographers! and I their map, who lie
Flat on this bed. . . .

So, in his purple wrapt receive me, Lord!
By these, his thorns, give me his other crown:
And, as to other souls I preach'd thy word,
Be this my text: my sermon to mine own.

"That, he may raise, therefore, the Lord throws down.”

If these fall under the censure of a soul, whose too much mixture with earth makes it unfit to judge of these high raptures and illuminations; let him know that many holy and devout men have thought the soul of Prudentius to be most refined, when not many days before his death he charged it to present his God each morning and evening with a new and spiritual song; justified by the example of king David and the good king Hezekiah, who upon the renovation of his years paid his thankful vows to almighty God in a royal hymn, which he concludes in these words, The Lord was ready to save, therefore I will sing my songs to the stringed instruments all the days of my life in the temple of my God.

The latter part of his life may be said to be a continued study; for as he usually preached once a week, if not oftener, so after his sermon he never gave his eyes rest, till he had chosen out a new text, and that night cast his sermon into a form, and his text into divisions; and the next day betook himself to consult the fathers, and so commit his meditations to his memory, which was excellent. But upon Saturday he usually gave himself and his mind a rest from the weary burthen of his week's meditations, and usually spent that day in visitation of friends, or some other diversions of his thoughts, and would say, that he gave both his body and mind that refreshment, that he might be enabled to do the

work of the day following, not faintly, but with courage and chearfulness.

Nor was his age only so industrious, but in the most unsettled days of his youth, his bed was not able to detain him beyond the hour of four in a morning: and it was no common business that drew him out of his chamber till past ten. All which time was employed in study; though he took great liberty after it; and if this seem strange, it may gain a belief by the visible fruits of his labours: some of which remain as testimonies of what is here written: for he left the resultance of fourteen hundred authors, most of them abridged and analysed with his own hand; he left also six score of his sermons, all written with his own hand: also an exact and laborious treatise concerning Self-murder, called Biathanatos; wherein all the laws violated by that act are diligently surveyed and judiciously censured; a treatise written in his younger days, which alone might declare him then not only perfect in the civil and canon law, but in many other such studies and arguments, as enter not into the consideration of many that labour to be thought great clerks, and pretend to know all things.

Nor were these only found in his study; but all businesses that past of any public consequence, either in this, or any of our neighbour nations, he abbreviated either in Latin, or in the language of that nation, and kept them by him for useful memorials. So he did the copies of divers letters and cases of conscience that had concerned his friends, with his observations and solutions of them; and, divers other businesses of importance; all particularly and methodically digested by himself.

He did prepare to leave the world before life left him; making his will when no faculty of his soul was damped or made defective by pain or sickness, or he surprized by a sudden apprehension of death but it was made with mature deliberation, expressing himself an impartial father by making his children's portions equal; and a lover of his friends, whom he remembered with legacies fitly and discreetly chosen and bequeathed. I cannot forbear a nomination of some of them; for, methinks they be persons that seem to challenge a recordation in this place; as namely, to his brother-in-law sir Thomas Grimes, he gave that striking clock which he had long worn in his pocket- -to his dear friend and executor Dr. King (late bishop of Chichester) that model of gold of the synod of Dort, with which the states presented him at his last being at the Hague-and the two

pictures of Padre Paulo and Fulgentio1, men of his acquaintance when he travelled Italy, and of great note in that nation for their remarkable learning. To his ancient friend Dr. Brook (that married him) master of Trinity college in Cambridge, he gave the picture of the blessed Virgin and Joseph.To Dr. Winniff (who succeeded him in the deanery) he gave a picture called the Sceleton. To the succeeding dean, who was not then known. he gave many necessaries of worth, and useful for his house; and also several pictures and ornaments for the chapel, with a desire that they might be registered, and remain as a legacy to his suecessors.—To the earls of Dorset and Carlisle, he gave several pictures; and so he did to many other friends; legacies, given rather to express his affection, than to make any addition to their estates: but unto the poor he was full of charity, and unto many others, who by his constant and long continued bounty might entitle themselves to be his alms-people: for all these, he made provision; and so largely, as having then six children living. might to some appear more than proportionable to his estate. I forbear to mention any more, lest the reader may think I trespass upon his patience: but I will beg his favour to present him with the beginning and end of his will.

"In the name of the blessed and glorious Trinity, Amen. I John Donne, by the mercy of Christ Jesus, and by the calling of the church of England priest, being at this time in good health and perfect understanding (praised be God therefore) do hereby make my last will and testament in manner and form following:

"First, I give my gracious God an intire sacrifice of body and soul, with my most humble thanks for that assurance which his blessed spirit imprints in me now of the salvation of the one, and the resurrection of the other; and for that constant and chearful resolution which the same spirit hath established in me to live and die in the religion now professed in the church of England. In expectation of that resurrection, I desire my body may be buried, in the most private manner that may be, in that place of St. Paul's church, London, that the now residentiaries have at my request designed for that purpose, &c.—And this my last will

1 Padre Paulo and Fulgentio.] Paolo Sarpi and his celebrated friend. See the Life of Wotton, in this collection.

and testament, made in the fear of God (whose mercy I humbly beg, and constantly rely upon in Jesus Christ) and in perfect love and charity with all the world (whose pardon I ask, from the lowest of my servants, to the highest of my superiors) written all with my own hand, and my name subscribed to every page, of which there are five in number.

"Sealed Decemb. 13. 1630."

Nor was this blessed sacrifice of charity expressed only at his death, but in his life also, by a chearful and frequent visitation of any friend whose mind was dejected, or his fortune necessitous : he was inquisitive after the wants of prisoners, and redeemed many from thence that lay for their fees or small debts; he was a continual giver to poor scholars, both of this and foreign nations. Besides what he gave with his own hand, he usually sent a servant, or a discreet and trusty friend, to distribute his charity to all the prisons in London at all the festival times of the year, especially at the birth and resurrection of our Saviour. He gave an hundred pounds at one time to an old friend, whom he had known live plentifully, and by a too liberal heart and carelessness, became decayed in his estate: and, when the receiving of it was denied, by the gentleman's saying "He wanted not;" for the reader may note, that as there be some spirits so generous as to labour to conceal and endure a sad poverty, rather than expose themselves to those blushes that attend the confession of it; so there be others to whom nature and grace have afforded such sweet and compassionate souls, as to pity and prevent the distresses of mankind; which I have mentioned because of Dr. Donne's reply, whose answer was, "I know you want not what will sustain nature, for a little will do that; but my desire is, that you who in the days of your plenty have cheared and raised the hearts of so many of your dejected friends, would now receive this from me, and use it as a cordial for the cheering of your own;" and upon these terms it was received. He was an happy reconciler of many differences in the families of his friends, and kindred, (which he never undertook faintly; for such undertakings have usually faint effects) and they had such a faith in his judgment and impartiality, that he never advised them to do any thing in vain. He was even to her death a most dutiful son to his mother, careful to provide for her supportation, of which she had been destitute, but that God

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