O complete creature! who the starry spheres Canst make to move, who 'bove the heavenly bears Extend'st thy power, who guidest with thy hand The day's bright chariot, and the nightly brand: This curious lust to imitate the best And fairest works of the Almightiest, By rare effects bears record of thy lineage And high descent; and that his sacred image Was in thy soul engraven, when first his Spirit, The spring of life, did in thy limbs inspire it. For, as his beauties are past all compare, So is thy soul all beautiful and fair: As he's immortal, and is never idle, Thy soul's immortal, and can brook no bridle Of sloth, to curb her busy intellect: He ponders all; thou peizest[1] each effect: And thy mature and settled sapience Hath some alliance with his providence: He works by reason, thou by rule: he's glory Of the heavenly stages, thou of th' earthly story: He's great High Priest, thou his great vicar here: He's sovereign Prince, and thou his viceroy dear. For soon as ever he had framed thee, Into thy hands he put this monarchy: Made all the creatures know thee for their lord, And come before thee of their own accord: And gave thee power as master, to impose Fit sense-full names unto the host that rows In watery regions; and the wand'ring herds Of forest people; and the painted birds: Oh, too, too happy! had that fall of thine Not cancell'd so the character divine. But, since our souls' now sin-obscured light Shines through the lanthorn of our flesh so bright; What sacred splendour will this star send forth, When it shall shine without this vail of earth? The Soul here lodged is like a man that dwells In an ill air, annoy'd with noisome smells; In an old house, open to wind and weather; Never in health not half an hour together: Or, almost, like a spider who, confined In her web's centre, shakes with every wind; Moves in an instant, if the buzzing fly Stir but a string of her lawn canopy. [1] 'Peizest:' weighest. THE CHARIOT OF THE SUN. Thou radiant coachman, running endless course, Fountain of heat, of light the lively source, Life of the world, lamp of this universe, Heaven's richest gem: oh, teach me where my verse May but begin thy praise: Alas! I fare Much like to one that in the clouds doth stare To count the quails, that with their shadow cover The Italian sea, when soaring hither over, Fain of a milder and more fruitful clime, They come with us to pass the summer time: No sooner he begins one shoal to sum, But, more and more, still greater shoals do come, Swarm upon swarm, that with their countless number Break off his purpose, and his sense encumber.