VIII.

CANTICLES i. 3, 4.

Draw me: we will run after thee, because of the savour of thy good ointments.

HUS, like a lump of the corrupted mass,

TH

I lie secure, long lost before I was :

And, like a block, beneath whose burden lies
That undiscover'd worm which never dies,
I have no will to rouse, I have no pow'r to rise.

Can stinking Lazaras compound or strive
With death's entangling fetters, and revive?
Or can the water-bury'd ax implore

A hand to raise it, or itself restore,

And from her sandy deeps approach the dry-foot shore?

So hard's the task for sinful flesh and blood
To lend the smallest step to what is good.
My God! I cannot move the least degree:
Ah! if but only those that active be,

None should thy glory see, none should thy glory see.

But if the potter please t' inform* the clay,
Or some strong hand remove the block away,
Their lowly fortunes soon are mounted higher;
That proves a vessel, which before was mire;
And this, being hewn, may serve for better use than fire.

And if that life-restoring voice command
Dead Laz'rus forth; or that great prophet's hand
Should charm the sullen waters, and begin

To beckon, or to dart a stick but in,

Dead Laz'rus must revive, and th' ax must float again.

Inform; i. e. new-make.

L 4

Lord,

Lord, as I am, I have no pow'r at all
To hear thy voice, or echo to thy call;

The gloomy clouds of mine own guilt benight me ; Thy glorious beams, not dainty sweets invite me; They neither can direct, nor these at all delight me.

See how my sin-bemangled body lies,
Not having pow'r to will, nor will to rise!
Shine home upon thy creature, and inspire
My lifeless will with thy regen'rate fire;
The first degree to do, is only to desire.

Give me the pow'r to will, the will to do;
O raise me up, and I will strive to go:

Draw me, O draw me with thy treble twist,
That have no pow'r but merely to resist ;

O lend me strength to do, and then command thy list!

My soul's a clock, whose wheels (for want of use
And winding up, being subject to th' abuse

Of eating rust) wants vigour to fulfil

Her twelve-hours task, and shew her Maker's skill, But idly sleeps unmov'd, and standeth vainly still.

Great God, it is thy work, and therefore good;
If thou be pleas'd to cleanse it with thy blood,
And wind it up with thy soul-moving keys,
Her busy wheels shall serve thee all her days;
Her hand shall point thy pow'r, her hammer strike thy
[praise.

S. BERN.

S. BERN. Ser. xxi. in Cant.

Let us run, let us run, but in the savour of thy ointment, not in the confidence of our merits, not in the greatness of our strength we trust to run, but in the multitude of thy mercies; for though we run and are willing, it is not in him that willeth, nor in him that runneth, but in God that sheweth mercy. O let thy mercy return, and we will run : thou, like a giant, runnest by thy own power; we, unless thy ointment breathe upon us, cannot run.

EPIG. 8.

Look not, my watch, being once repair'd, to stand
Expecting motion from thy Maker's hand.

He 'as wound thee up, and cleans'd thy cogs with blood:
If now thy wheels stand still, thou art not good.

CANTI