So softly death succeeded life in her:
She did but dream of heaven, and she was there.
No pains she suffered, nor expired with noise;
Her soul was whispered out with God's still voice;
As an old friend is beckoned to a feast,
And treated like a long familiar guest.
He took her as he found, but found her so,
As one in hourly readiness to go:
E'en on that day in all her trim prepar'd,
As early notice she from heaven had heard,
And some descending courier from above
Had given her timely warning to remove:
Or counselled her to dress the nuptial room,
For on that night the bridegroom was to come.
He kept his hour, and found her where she lay
Clothed all in white, the livery of the day.
This paraphrase of the Latin hymn popularly attributed to Charlemagne was first printed in Tonson's folio edition of Dryden's Poems, 1701.
CREATOR SPIRIT, by whose aid
The world's foundations first were laid,
Come, visit every pious mind;
Come, pour thy joys on human kind;
From sin and sorrows set us free,
And make thy temples worthy thee.
Oh, source of uncreated light,
The Father's promised Paraclete!
Thrice holy fount, thrice holy fire,
Our hearts with heavenly love inspire;
Come, and thy sacred unction bring
To sanctify us, while we sing.
Plenteous of grace, descend from high,
Rich in thy sevenfold energy!
Thou strength of his Almighty hand,
Whose power does heaven and earth command.
Proceeding Spirit, our defence,
Who dost the gift of tongues dispense,
And crown'st thy gift with eloquence,
Refine and purge our earthly parts;
But, oh, inflame and fire our hearts!
Our frailties help, our vice control,
Submit the senses to the soul;
And when rebellious they are grown,
Then lay thy hand, and hold them down.
Chase from our minds the infernal foe,
And peace, the fruit of love, bestow;
And lest our feet should step astray,
Protect and guide us in the way.
Make us eternal truths receive,
And practise all that we believe :
Give us thyself, that we may see
The Father and the Son by thee.
Immortal honour, endless fame,
Attend the Almighty Father's name :
The Saviour Son be glorified,
Who for lost man's redemption died:
And equal adoration be,
Eternal Paraclete, to thee!
ALAS! what stay is there in human state,
Or who can shun inevitable fate?
The doom was written, the decree was past,
Ere the foundations of the world were cast.
ON what strange grounds we build our hopes and fears! Man's life is all a mist, and in the dark our fortunes
If fate be not, then what can we foresee?
And how can we avoid it if it be?
If by free will in our own paths we move,
How are we bounded by decrees above?
Whether we drive, or whether we are driven,
If ill, 'tis ours; if good, the act of Heaven.
THE OLD AGE OF THE TEMPERATE.
SOME few, by Temperance taught, approaching slow, To distant fate by easy journeys go:
Gently they lay them down, as ev'ning sheep,
On their own woolly fleeces softly sleep.
So noiseless would I live, such death to find;
Like timely fruit, not shaken by the wind:
But ripely dropping from the sapless bough,
And, dying, nothing to myself would owe.
Thus daily changing, with a duller taste
Of lessening joys, I by degrees would waste:
Still quitting ground by unperceiv'd decay;
And steal myself from Life, and fade away.
WHEN I consider life, 'tis all a cheat;
Yet, fool'd with hope, men favour the deceit :
Trust on, and think to-morrow will repay:
To-morrow's falser than the former day;
Lies worse; and while it says we shall be blest
With some new joys cuts off what we possessed.
Strange cozenage! None would live past years again ;
Yet all hope pleasure in what yet remain ;
And from the dregs of life think to receive
What the first sprightly running could not give.
THUS like a sailor by the tempest hurled
Ashore, the Babe is shipwrecked on the World;
Naked he lies and ready to expire,
Helpless of all that human wants require :
Exposed upon inhospitable Earth,
From the first moment of his hapless birth.
BEAUTY and youth are frail: their charms will soon decay,
Their lustre fades as rolling years increase,
And Age still triumphs o'er the ruined face.
This truth, the fair but short-lived lily shows,
And prickles, that survive the faded rose,
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