“I will go searching, till I find a sun Shall stay till we have done, A willing shiner, that will shine as gladly As frost-nipt suns look sadly. Then we will sing and shine all our own day, And one another pay; His beams shall cheer my breast, and both so twine Till even his beams sing, and my music shine.” (_Of prayer._) “Heaven in ordinary, man well-drest, The Milky Way, the bird of Paradise.” “Then went I to a garden, and did spy A gallant flower, The crown-imperial: Sure, said I, Peace at the root must dwell.” VAUGHAN. “A darting conscience, full of stabs and fears.” “And wrap us in imaginary flights Wide of a faithful grave.” “That in these masks and shadows I may see Thy sacred way, And by these hid ascents climb to that day Which breaks from Thee Who art in all things, though invisibly!” “O would I were a bird or star Fluttering in woods, or lifted far Above this inn And road of sin! Then either star or bird would be Shining or singing still to Thee!” (_Of books._) “The track of fled souls, and their Milky Way.” “I walked the other day to spend my hour Into a field, Where I sometime had seen the soil to yield A gallant flower.” HERBERT. “But groans are quick and full of wings, And all their motions upward be, And ever as they mount, like larks they sing: The note is sad, yet music for a king.” “Joys oft are there, and griefs as oft as joys, But griefs without a noise; Yet speak they louder than distempered fears: What is so shrill as silent tears?” “At first Thou gavest me milk and sweetnesses, I had my wish and way; My days were strewed with flowers and happiness; There was no month but May.” “Only a scarf or glove Doth warm our hands, and make them write of Love.” “I got me flowers to strew Thy way, I got me boughs off many a tree; But Thou wast up by break of day, And brought Thy sweets along with Thee.” “O come! for Thou dost know the way: Or if to me Thou wilt not move, Remove me where I need not say, ‘Drop from above.’” “Sure Thou wilt joy by gaining me To fly home like a laden bee.” VAUGHAN. “A silent tear can pierce Thy throne When loud joys want a wing; And sweeter airs stream from a groan Than any artèd string.” “Follow the cry no more! There is An ancient way, All strewed with flowers and happiness, And fresh as May!” “feverish souls Sick with a scarf or glove.” “I’ll get me up before the sun, I’ll cull me boughs off many a tree; And all alone full early run To gather flowers and welcome Thee.”