S. AUGUST. sup. Psal. lxiv.

Two several lovers built two several cities: the love of God buildeth a Jerusalem: the love of the world buildeth a Babylon let every one enquire of himself what he loveth; and he shall resolve himself, of whence he is a citizen.

:

S. AUGUST. lib. iii. Confess.

All things are driven by their own weight, and tend to their own centre; my weight is love; by that I am driven whithersoever I am driven.

Ibidem.

Lord, he loveth thee less, that loveth any thing with thee, which he loveth not for thee.

EPIG. 13.

Lord, scourge my ass, if she should make no haste ;
And curb my stag, if he should fly too fast ::
If he be over swift, or she prove idle,

Let Love lend him a spur Fear, her a bridle.

k

PSALM

XIV.

PSALM xiii. 3.

Lighten mine eyes, O Lord, lest, I sleep the sleep of death.

TILLT ne'er be morning? Will that promis'd light
Ne'er break, and clear those clouds of night?

Sweet Phosphor, bring the day,

Whose conqu'ring ray

May chase these fogs; sweet Phosphor, bring the day.

How long! how long shall these benighted eyes
Languish in shades, like feeble flies
Expecting spring? How long shall darkness soil
The face of earth, and thus beguile

Our souls of sprightful action? When, when will day
Begin to dawn, whose new-born ray
May gild the weathercocks of our devotion,
And give our unsold souls new motion ?
Sweet Phosphor, bring the days;

Thy light will fray

These horrid mists; sweet Phosphor, bring the day.

Let those have night, that slily love t'immure
Their cloister'd crimes, and sin secure ;
Let those have night, that blush to let men know
The baseness they ne'er blush to do;

Let those have night, that love to have a nap,
And loll in ignorance's lap ;

Let those, whose eyes, like owls, abhor the light,
Let those have night, that love the night :

Sweet

Sweet Phosphor, bring the day;

How sad delay

Afflicts dull hopes! Sweet Phosphor, bring the day.

Alas! my light-in-vain-expecting eyes
Can find no objects, but what rise
From this poor mortal blaze, a dying spark
Of Vulcan's forge, whose flames are dark,
A dang'rous, dull blue-burning light,
As melancholy as the night :

Here's all the suns that glister in the sphere
Of earth: Ah me! what comfort's here?
Sweet Phosphor, bring the day;

Haste, haste away.

Heav'n's loit'ring lamp? sweet Phosphor, bring the day.

Blow, Ignorance: O thou, whose idle knee

Rocks earth into a lethargy,

And with thy sooty fingers hast bedight

*

The world's fair cheek, blow, blow thy spite;
Since thou hast puft our greater taper; do
Puff on, and out the lesser too:

If e'er that breath-exiled flame return,
Thou hast not blown, as it will burn:
Sweet Phosphor, bring the day :

Light will repay

The wrongs of night; sweet Phosphor, bring the day.

Bedight, i. e. besmear'd.

S. AU