4 Faith sojourned first on earth in you, You were the dear and chosen stock: The arm of God, glorious and true, Was first revealed to be your rock. 5 You were the eldest child, and when Your stony hearts despised love, The youngest, even the Gentiles, then, Were cheered your jealousy to move. 6 Thus, righteous Father! dost thou deal With brutish men; thy gifts go round By turns, and timely, and so heal The lost son by the newly found. PALM-SUNDAY. 1 Come, drop your branches, strew the way, Plants of the day! Whom sufferings make most green and gay. The King of grief, the Man of sorrow, Weeping still like the wet morrow, Your shades and freshness comes to borrow. 2 Put on, put on your best array; Let the joyed road make holyday, And flowers, that into fields do stray, Or secret groves, keep the highway. 3 Trees, flowers, and herbs; birds, beasts, and stones, That since man fell expect with groans To see the Lamb, come all at once, Lift up your heads and leave your moans; For here comes he Whose death will be Man's life, and your full liberty. 4 Hark! how the children shrill and high 'Hosanna' cry; Their joys provoke the distant sky, Where thrones and seraphim reply; And their own angels shine and sing, In a bright ring: Such young, sweet mirth Makes heaven and earth Join in a joyful symphony. 5 The harmless, young, and happy ass, (Seen long before[1] this came to pass,) Is in these joys a high partaker, Ordained and made to bear his Maker. 6 Dear Feast of Palms, of flowers and dew! Whose fruitful dawn sheds hopes and lights; Thy bright solemnities did shew The third glad day through two sad nights. 7 I'll get me up before the sun, I'll cut me boughs off many a tree, And all alone full early run To gather flowers to welcome thee. 8 Then, like the palm, though wronged I'll bear, I will be still a child, still meek As the poor ass which the proud jeer, And only my dear Jesus seek. 9 If I lose all, and must endure The proverbed griefs of holy Job, I care not, so I may secure But one green branch and a white robe. [1] Zechariah ix. 9. PROVIDENCE. 1 Sacred and secret hand! By whose assisting, swift command The angel showed that holy well Which freed poor Hagar from her fears, And turned to smiles the begging tears Of young, distressed Ishmael. 2 How, in a mystic cloud, Which doth thy strange, sure mercies shroud, Dost thou convey man food and money, Unseen by him till they arrive Just at his mouth, that thankless hive, Which kills thy bees, and eats thy honey! 3 If I thy servant be, Whose service makes even captives free, A fish shall all my tribute pay, The swift-winged raven shall bring me meat, And I, like flowers, shall still go neat, As if I knew no month but May.