Give the rewards of joyful life; The plenteous gifts of grace increase; Dissolve the cruel bonds of strife; Knit fast the happy league of peace. Dear Father, grant what we entreat, Reigning whilst times and ages last. Saturday. O Trinity! O blessed light! O Unity, most principal ! The fiery sun now leaves our sight; Let us with songs of praise divine, To God the Father glory great, And to the holy Paraclete, Both now, and still while ages run. SPRING. So forth issu'd the seasons of the year; Drummond. First lusty Spring, all dight in leaves of flowers That freshly budded, and new blossoms did bear, In which a thousand birds had built their bowers, That sweetly sung to call forth paramours; That as some did him love, so others did him fear. SUMMER. Spenser. Then came the jolly Summer, being dight Had hunted late the libbard or the boar, And now would bathe his limbs, with labour heated sore. AUTUMN. Spenser. Then came the Autumn, all in yellow clad, To reap the ripen'd fruit, the which the earth had yold. Spenser. WINTER. Lastly came Winter, clothed all in frieze, In his right hand a tippéd staff he held, For he was faint with cold, and weak with eld, That scarce his looséd limbs he able was to weld. Spenser. HYMN TO THE MORNING. Written in Summer. Hail goddess of the silver star, Whose trembling orb gives signal to the day; O! queen of light, whose virgin ray The sun salutes in his celestial car; Whose active heats melt every cloud And stain the lustre of thy laughing eye, Dimple-cheek'd-health with rosy features glows, Through lowing pastures in she goes, Wearing the milkmaid's ruddy grace, Ease in her tripping step, and pleasure in her face. And giver of unspeakable delight! And looks thanksgiving through her large domain: At thy approach the conscious trees And every flower a fresher brightness wears; Where buxom Ceres waits him with a smile: Or chants some love-lorn ditty's air, With which he means to charm, and win his favourite fair. O sovereign of the spicy gale, Of odours pure, and salutary dews, Thy valleys, wash'd with crystal rills, And verdant lawns, where many a wild-flower grows; There, while zephyr softly blows, Let me indulge the heaven-devoted thought, And render praises as I ought To Him whose power and love divine Call'd thee from total void, and bade thy beauty shine. William Woty. MATINS. I cannot ope mine eyes, But thou art ready there to catch My morning-soul and sacrifice! Then we must needs for that day make a match. My God, what is a heart? Of all these things, or all of them in one? My God, what is a heart, That thou should'st it so eye and woo, As if that thou hadst nothing else to do? Indeed, man's whole estate Amounts (and richly) to serve thee: He did not heav'n and earth create, Yet studies them, not Him by whom they be. Teach me thy love to know; That this new light, which now I see, May both the work and workman show: Then by a sunbeam I will climb to thee. Herbert. EVEN-SONG. Blest be the God of love, Who gave me eyes, and light, and power this day, Both to be busy and to play, But much more blest be God above, Who gave me sight alone, Which to himself he did deny! For when he sees my ways, I die! But I have got his Son, and he hath none. |