And, in a furious march, he's coming on, To scour the sinful world, 'gainst which is bent Bows strung with vengeance, and flame-feathered darts, Headed with death, to wound transgressing hearts; To seek heaven's shrunk lights, nothing shall appear But night and horror in their hemisphere; Nor shall the affrighted sense more objects know, Than darken'd skies above, and hell below. A PENITENTIAL HYMN. HEARKEN, O God! unto a wretch's cries, For well I know, if thou in rigour deal, I can nor pardon ask, not yet appeal; To my hoarse voice heaven will no audience grant, But deaf as brass, and hard as adamant, Beat back my words: therefore I bring to thee A gracious Advocate to plead for me. What though my lep'rous soul no Jordan can Make clean? Yet, from my Saviour's bleeding side Two large and medicinal rivers glide: Lord! wash me where those streams of life abound, And new Bethesdas flow from every wound. FRANCIS QUARLES. BORN 1592; DIED 1664. THE chief poems of Quarles are, the "Scripture Histories of Sampson, Job, Esther, and Jonah ;" "Emblems;" the "School of the Heart;" "Sion's Elegies ;" and "Hieroglyphics of the Life of Man ;" of which, the "Emblems" alone continued to retain some degree of popular esteem within the memory of the existing generation. Quarles was a writer of extensive learning, a lively fancy, and profound piety. His style, everywhere devoid of polish, presents nevertheless some of the best specimens of manly and vigorous versification to be found among our poets of the second order; but is debased by vulgarisms, and deformed by quaint conceits. The space assigned to the following selections may appear disproportionately large to those who have only beheld from a distance that languid twilight of the author's fame, which lingers among the few who yet read his "Emblems," and perhaps one or two of his lessremembered works, merely as aids to devotion. It is believed, however, that few persons will attentively peruse these specimens, without imbibing a wish to become further acquainted with the volumes from which they are derived. FRANCIS QUARLES. VANITY OF THE WORLD. FALSE world, thou ly'st: thou canst not lend Thy favours cannot gain a friend, They are so slight: Thy morning pleasures make an end To please at night: Poor are the wants that thou supply'st And yet thou vaunt'st, and yet thou vy'st With heaven; fond earth, thou boasts; false world, thou ly'st. Thy babbling tongue tells golden tales Of endless treasure; Thy bounty offers easy sales Of lasting pleasure; Thou ask'st the conscience what she ails, And swear'st to ease her: There's none can want where thou supply'st: There's none can give where thy deny'st. Alas! fond world, thou boasts; false world, thou ly'st. |