When I know what, and in whose power it is; Nor want, the cause[85] of man, shall make me groan: A holy hermit is a mind alone.[86] Doth not experience teach us, all we can, To work ourselves into a glorious man? * * * * * My mistress then be knowledge and fair truth; So I enjoy all beauty and all youth! * * * * * Affliction, when I know it, is but this-- A deep alloy, whereby man tougher is To bear the hammer; and the deeper still, We still arise more image of his will; Sickness, an humorous cloud 'twixt us and light; And death, at longest, but another night, Man is his own star, and that soul that can Be honest, is the only perfect man. There is a tone of contempt in the verses which is not religious; but they express a true philosophy and a triumph of faith in God. The word _honest_ is here equivalent to _true_. I am not certain whether I may not now be calling up a singer whose song will appear hardly to justify his presence in the choir. But its teaching is of high import, namely, of content and cheerfulness and courage, and being both worthy and melodious, it gravitates heavenward. The singer is yet another dramatist: I presume him to be Thomas Dekker. I cannot be certain, because others were concerned with him in the writing of the drama from which I take it. He it is who, in an often-quoted passage, styles our Lord "The first true gentleman that ever breathed;" just as Chaucer, in a poem I have given, calls him "The first stock-father of gentleness." We may call the little lyric A SONG OF LABOUR. Art thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers? Oh, sweet content! Art thou rich, yet is thy mind perplexed? Oh, punishment! Dost thou laugh to see how fools are vexed To add to golden numbers, golden numbers? Oh, sweet content! _Chorus_.--Work apace, apace, apace, apace; Honest labour bears a lovely face. Canst drink the waters of the crispéd spring? Oh, sweet content! Swimm'st thou in wealth, yet sink'st in thine own tears? Oh, punishment! Then he that patiently want's burden bears, No burden bears, but is a king, a king! Oh, sweet content! _Chorus_.--Work apace, apace, apace, apace; Honest labour bears a lovely face. It is a song of the poor in spirit, whose is the kingdom of heaven. But if my co-listeners prefer, we will call it the voice, not of one who sings in the choir, but of one who "tunes his instrument at the door." CHAPTER X. SIR JOHN BEAUMONT AND DRUMMOND OF HAWTHORNDEN. Sir John Beaumont, born in 1582, elder brother to the dramatist who wrote along with Fletcher, has left amongst his poems a few fine religious ones. From them I choose the following: OF THE EPIPHANY.