I ask not why he did remove To happy Mamre's holy grove, Leaving the cities of the plain To Lot and his successless train? All various lusts in cities still Are found; they are the thrones of ill, The dismal sinks, where blood is spill'd, Cages with much uncleanness fill'd: But rural shades are the sweet sense Of piety and innocence; They are the meek's calm region, where Angels descend and rule the sphere; Where Heaven lies leiguer, and the Dove Duly as dew comes from above. If Eden be on Earth at all, 'Tis that which we the country call. THE REVIVAL. Unfold! unfold! Take in His light, Who makes thy cares more short than night. The joys which with His day-star rise He deals to all but drowsy eyes; And, what the men of this world miss, Some drops and dews of future bliss. Hark! how His winds have chang'd their note! And with warm whispers call thee out; The frosts are past, the storms are gone, And backward life at last comes on. The lofty groves in express joys Reply unto the turtle's voice; And here in dust and dirt, O here The lilies of His love appear! THE DAY SPRING. Early, while yet the dark was gay And gilt with stars, more trim than day, Heav'n's Lily, and the Earth's chaste Rose, The green immortal Branch arose; } And in a solitary place } S. Mark, Bow'd to His Father His blest face. } c. 1, v. 35- If this calm season pleased my Prince, Whose fulness no need could evince, Why should not I, poor silly sheep, His hours, as well as practice, keep? Not that His hand is tied to these, From whom Time holds his transient lease But mornings new creations are, When men, all night sav'd by His care, Are still reviv'd; and well He may Expect them grateful with the day. So for that first draught of His hand, } Which finish'd heav'n, and sea, and land, } Job, c. 38, The sons of God their thanks did bring, } v. 7- And all the morning stars did sing. } Besides, as His part heretofore The firstlings were of all that bore So now each day from all He saves Their soul's first thoughts and fruits He craves. This makes Him daily shed and show'r His graces at this early hour; Which both His care and kindness show, Cheering the good, quickening the slow. As holy friends mourn at delay, And think each minute an hour's stay, So His Divine and loving Dove With longing throes[67] doth heave and move, And soar about us while we sleep; Sometimes quite through that lock doth peep, And shine, but always without fail, Before the slow sun can unveil, In new compassions breaks, like light, And morning-looks, which scatter night. And wilt Thou let Thy creature be, When Thou hast watch'd, asleep to Thee?