Sleep with thy beauties here, while we Will show these garments made by thee; These were the coats, in these are read The monuments of Dorcas dead. These were thy acts, and thou shall have These hung as honours o'er thy grave; _Chor._ And after us, distressed, Should fame be dumb, Thy very tomb Would cry out, Thou art blessed. _Deal_, portion. _Maundy_, the alms given on Thursday in Holy Week. _Reaming_, drawing out into threads. _Calamus_, a fragrant plant, the sweet flag. _Chrysolite_, the topaz. 124. TO GOD IN TIME OF PLUNDERING. Rapine has yet took nought from me; But if it please my God I be Brought at the last to th' utmost bit, God make me thankful still for it. I have been grateful for my store: Let me say grace when there's no more. 125. TO HIS SAVIOUR. THE NEW-YEAR'S GIFT. That little pretty bleeding part Of foreskin send to me: And I'll return a bleeding heart For New-Year's gift to Thee. Rich is the gem that Thou did'st send, Mine's faulty too and small; But yet this gift Thou wilt commend Because I send Thee all. 126. DOOMSDAY. Let not that day God's friends and servants scare; The bench is then their place, and not the bar. 127. THE POOR'S PORTION. The sup'rabundance of my store, That is the portion of the poor: Wheat, barley, rye, or oats; what is't But He takes toll of? all the grist. Two raiments have I: Christ then makes This law; that He and I part stakes. Or have I two loaves, then I use The poor to cut, and I to choose. 128. THE WHITE ISLAND: OR, PLACE OF THE BLEST. In this world, the isle of dreams, While we sit by sorrow's streams, Tears and terrors are our themes Reciting: But when once from hence we fly, More and more approaching nigh Unto young Eternity Uniting: In that whiter island, where Things are evermore sincere; Candour here, and lustre there Delighting: There no monstrous fancies shall Out of hell an horror call, To create, or cause at all, Affrighting. There in calm and cooling sleep We our eyes shall never steep; But eternal watch shall keep, Attending Pleasures, such as shall pursue Me immortalised, and you; And fresh joys, as never to Have ending. 129. TO CHRIST. I crawl, I creep; my Christ, I come To Thee for curing balsamum: Thou hast, nay more, Thou art the tree Affording salve of sovereignty. My mouth I'll lay unto Thy wound Bleeding, that no blood touch the ground: For, rather than one drop shall fall To waste, my JESU, I'll take all. 130. TO GOD.