And on her head a crown of purest gold
Is set, in sign of highest sovereignty;
And in her hand a sceptre she doth hold

With which she rules the house of God on high,
And manageth the ever-moving sky,

And in the same these lower creatures all

Subjected to her power imperial.

Both heaven and earth obey unto her will,
And all the creatures which they both contain;
For of her fulness, which the world doth fill,
They all partake, and do in state remain
As their great Maker did at first ordain,
Through observation of her high beheast,

By which they first were made and still increased.
The fairness of her face no tongue can tell,
For she the daughters of all women's race,
And angels eke, in beauty doth excel,
Sparkled on her from God's own glorious face,
And more increased by her own goodly grace,
That it doth far exceed all human thought,
Ne can on earth compared be to aught;
Ne could that painter, had he lived yet,
Which pictured Venus with so curious quill,
That all posterity admired it,

Have pourtrayed this, for all his maistering skill;
Ne she herself, had she remained still,

And were as fair as fabling wits do feign,
Could once come near this beauty sovereign.
But had those wits, the wonders of their days,
Or that sweet Teian poet which did spend
His plenteous vein in setting forth her praise,
Seen but a glimpse of this which I pretend,*
How wondrously would he her face commend,
Above that idol of his feigning thought,

That all the world should with his rhymes be fraught!

How then dare I, the novice of his art,
Presume to picture so divine a wight,
Or hope t' express her least perfection's part,
Whose beauty fills the heavens with her light,
And darks the earth with shadow of her sight?
Ah, gentle muse! thou art too weak and faint
The portrait of so heavenly hue to paint.

*Show forth.

Let angels, which her goodly face behold
And see at will, her sovereign praises sing,
And those most sacred mysteries unfold
Of that fair love of mighty Heaven's King;
Enough is me t' admire so heavenly thing,
And, being thus with her huge love possessed,
In the only wonder of her self to rest.

But whoso may, thrice happy man him hold,
Of all on earth whom God so much doth grace,
And lets his own beloved to behold;

For in the view of her celestial face

All joy, all bliss, all happiness have place;
Ne ought on earth can want unto the wight
Who of her self can win the wishful sight.
For she, out of her secret treasury,
Plenty of riches forth on him will pour,
Even heavenly riches, which there hidden lie
Within the closet of her chastest bower,
The eternal portion of her precious dower,
Which mighty God hath given to her free,
And to all those which thereof worthy be.

None thereof worthy be but those whom she
Vouchsafeth to her presence to receive,
And letteth them her lovely face to see,
Whereof such wondrous pleasure they conceive,
And sweet contentment, that it doth bereave
Their soul of sense through infinite delight,
And them transport from flesh into the sprite;
In which they see such admirable things
As carries them into an extasy,
And hear such heavenly notes and carollings
Of God's high praise, that fills the brazen sky,
And feel such joy and pleasure inwardly,
That maketh them all worldly cares forget,
And only think on that before them set.

Ne from thenceforth doth any fleshly sense
Or idle thought of earthly things remain,

But all that erst seemed sweet seems now offence,
And all that pleased erst now seems to pain:
Their joy, their comfort, their desire, their gain,
Is fixed all on that which now they see;
All other sights but feigned shadows be.

And that fair lamp which useth to inflame
The hearts of men with self-consuming fire
Thenceforth seems foul, and full of sinful blame;
And all that pomp to which proud minds aspire
By name of honour, and so much desire,
Seems to them baseness, and all riches dross,
And all mirth sadness, and all lucre loss.

So full their eyes are of that glorious sight,
And senses fraught with such satiety,
That in nought else on earth they can delight
But in th' aspect of that felicity,

Which they have written in their inward eye,
On which they feed, and in their fastened mind
All happy joy and full contentment find.

And then, my hungry soul! which long hast fed
On idle fancies of my foolish thought

And, with false Beauty's flattering bait misled,
Hast after vain deceitful shadows sought,

Which all are fled, and now have left thee nought
But late repentance through thy folly's prief,
Ah! cease to gaze on matter of thy grief;

And look at last up to that sovereign light
From whose pure beams all perfect Beauty springs,
That kindleth love in every godly sprite,
Even the Love of God, which loathing brings
Of this vile world and these gay seeming things;
With whose sweet pleasures being so possessed,
Thy straying thoughts henceforth for ever rest.

* Proof.

105.-Fortune.

LUCAS.

[RICHARD LUCAS, D.D., Prebendary of Westminster, was the author of a popular book entitled an 'Inquiry after Happiness,' from which the following extract is taken. He also published Practical Christianity,' and 'Sermons,' extending to five volumes. He lived in the early part of the last century. The following extract from the Preface to the Inquiry after Happiness,' is a charming illustration of the character of this amiable divine :

"It has pleased God that in a few years I should finish the more pleasant and delightful part of life, if sense were to be the judge and standard of pleasure; being confined (I will not say condemned), by well-nigh utter blindness, to retirement and solitude. In this state conversation has lost much of its former air and briskBusiness (wherein I could never pretend to any great address) gives me

ness.

now more trouble than formerly, and that, too, without the usual despatch or success. Study (which is the only employment left me) is clogged with this weight and incumbrance, that all the assistance I can receive from without must be conveyed by another's sense, not my own; which it may easily be believed are instruments or organs as ill fitted, and as awkwardly managed by me, as wooden legs and hands by the maimed.

"In this case, should I affect to procure myself a decent funeral, and leave an honourable remembrance of me behind, should I struggle to rescue myself from that contempt to which this condition (wherein I may seem lost to the world and myself) exposes me, should I ambitiously affect to have my name march in the train of those All (though not all equally) great ones-Homer, Appius, Cn. Aufidius, Didymus, Walkup, Père Jean l'Aveugle, &c., all of them eminent for their service and usefulness, as for their affliction of the same kind with mine, even this might seem almost a commendable infirmity; for the last thing a mind truly great and philosophical puts off is, the desire of glory. But this treatise oweth neither its conception nor birth to this principle: for, besides that I know my own insufficiency too well to flatter myself with the hopes of a romantic immortality from any performance of mine, in this ingenious and learned age, I must confess I never had a soul great enough to be acted on by the heroic heat which the love of fame and honour hath kindled in some. I have ever loved the security and contentment of privacy and retirement, almost to the guilt of singularity and affectation.

"But the truth is plainly this: the vigour and activity of my mind, the health and strength of my body (being now in the flower of my age) continuing unbroken under this affliction, I found that, if I did not provide some employment that might entertain it, it would weary out itself with fruitless desires of, and vain attempts after, its wonted objects; and so that strength and vivacity of nature, which should render my state more comfortable, would make it much more intolerable.

"I confess, my zeal for public good, by the propagation and endearment of divine truths, was less fervent in me than could well become the particular obligations of my profession, or the common ones which every Christian, in proportion to his talents, lies under. I was almost induced to believe, that this chastisement, which had removed me from the service of the altar, did at the same time discharge me from all duty owing to the public: but my good friend, Mr. Lamb, revived the dying sparks of a decaying zeal, and restored me to a proper sense of my duty in this point; for whether by design, or by providence governing chance, I know not (for he never seemed to address or design the discourse particularly to me), he had ever and anon in his mouth this excellent principle, that the life of man is to be esteemed by its usefulness and serviceableness in the world. A sober reflection upon this wrought me up to a resolution strong enough to contemn all the difficulties which the loss of my sight could represent to me in an enterprise of this nature. Thus you see on what principle I became engaged in this work: I thought it my duty to set myself some task, which might serve at once to divert my thoughts from a melancholy application on my misfortune, and entertain my mind with such a rational enjoyment as might render me most easy to myself and most serviceable to the world. Being now abundantly convinced that I am not released from that duty I owe that body of which I am still a member, by being cut off from a great part of the pleasure and advantages of it; therefore, like one that truly loves his country, when no way else is left him, he fights for it on his stumps; so will I ever, in the remains of a broken body, express, at least, my affection for mankind, and breathe out my last gasp in their service."]

What dost thou mean by fortune? If mere chance, then to envy the

lot of others, or murmur at thy own, is folly; if providence, then it is
impiety; for whatever goodness, guided by unerring wisdom, doth,
must be so well done that it cannot be mended; and whatever is merely
in the power of a blind, giddy, and inconstant humour (which is the
notion by which men choose to express fortune) can neither be pre-
vented, fixed, or regulated. But what is it, secondly, thou dost put in
the power of fortune? the understanding and liberty of men's minds;
wisdom, temperance, industry, courage, and in one word, virtue? If
thou dost not, she has no influence on thy happiness, she cannot pre-
vent thy attainment of it, nor bereave thee of it when attained. If
thou dost, thou dost enlarge the empire of fortune too far; let her
rule and insult over soldiers, courtiers, lovers, factious demagogues
and time-servers, but not over philosophers; let those who are her
minions be her slaves; let her dispose of money, lands, farms, com-
missions, benefices, honours, graces, fame; nay, if you will, crowns
and sceptres too; virtue, and happiness, and souls are too precious
commodities to be the sport and traffic of Fortune. Solomon observed
long ago,
"Wisdom crieth without; she uttereth her voice in the streets;
she crieth in the chief place of concourse, in the openings of the
gates; in the city she uttereth her words," Prov. i. Our Saviour in the
great day of the feast, cried, saying, "If any man thirst, let him
come unto me, and drink," (John vii.,) which is an invitation of the
same nature with that of the prophet-" Every one that thirsteth,
come ye to the waters, and he that hath no money; come ye, buy,
and eat; buy wine and milk without money and without price," Isaiah
lv. This ever was, and ever will be true; a great fortune is not neces-
sary for the attainment of faith, hope, or charity; and he that is
endowed with these cannot be miserable: you may learn the whole
system of divine and important truths; you may acquit yourself with
all the beauty and enjoyments of virtue at a very cheap rate; and you
may learn temperance, fortitude, justice, modesty, constancy, patience,
contempt of the world, without the assistance of much more wealth
than will serve to feed and clothe you: and canst thou not be content
with these possessions? is not this a sort of merchandise to be preferred
before that of fine gold?

I know the greater part of those who accuse their fortune of misery do at least pretend that their condition and circumstances of life are so incommodious, that they have not time to attend to the great interest of the soul, or at least not with that application which they should. Alas! thus not the mean only, but almost all talk, from the porter to the prince: the circumstances of one are too strait, too narrow; of another too full of trouble, because too full of state; one complains that he is withdrawn from his great end, by the many allurements and sensual temptations to which his rank and quality in the world expose him;