THE WALDENSES.

Fven them who kept thy truth so pure of old,

When all our fathers worshipped stocks and stones.-Page 574

And that one talent which is death to hide, Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent

To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest He, returning, chide;
Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?
I fondly ask: but Patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies;-God doth not need
Either man's work or his own gifts; who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best: his

state

Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed,
And post o'er land and ocean without rest:
They also serve who only stand and wait.

XV. TO MR. LAWRENCE.

LAWRENCE, of virtuous father virtuous son, Now that the fields are dank, and ways are mire,

Where shall we sometimes meet, and by the fire Help waste a sullen day, what may be won From the hard season gaining? Time will run On smoother, till Favonius reinspire

The frozen earth, and clothe in fresh attire The lily and rose, that neither sow'd nor spun.. What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice, Of Attic taste, with wine, whence we may rise

To hear the lute well touch'd, or artful voice Warble immortal notes and Tuscan air? He who of those delights can judge, and spare To interpose them oft, is not unwise.

XVI. TO CYRIACK SKINNER.

CYRIACK, whose grandsire on the royal bench Of British Themis, with no mean applause Pronounced, and in his volumes taught, our laws,

Which others at their bar so often wrench; To-day deep thoughts resolve with me to drench In mirth, that, after, no repenting draws; Let Euclid rest, and Archimedes pause,

And what the Swede intends, and what the French.

To measure life learn thou betimes, and know Toward solid good what leads the nearest way; For other things mild Heaven a time ordains, And disapproves that care, though wise in show, That with superfluous burden loads the day, And, when God sends a cheerful hour, refrains.

XVII. TO THE SAME.

CYRIACK, this three years day these eyes, though clear,

a

To outward view, of blemish or of spot,

Bereft of light, their seeing have forgot;
Nor to their idle orbs doth sight appear

Of sun, or moon, or star, throughout the year,
Or man, or woman. Yet I argue not

Against Heaven's hand or will, nor bate a jot Of heart or hope; but still bear up and steer Right onward. What supports me, dost thou

ask?