Francis Quarles: Verses about Faith

GOE, glorious saint ! I knew 'twas not a shrine
Of flesh could lodge so pure a soule as thine;
I saw it labour (in a holy scorne
Of living dust and ashes) to be swome
A heavenly quirister : it sigh'd and groan'd
To be dissolv'd from mortall, and enthron'd
Among his fellow-angels, there to sing
Perpetuall anthems to his heavenly King :
He was a stranger to his house of clay;
Scarce own'd it, but that necessary stay
Miscall'd it his ; and onely zeale did make
Him love the building for the builder's sake.

I love (and have some cause to love) the earth;
She is my Maker's creature, therefore good:
She is my mother, for she gave me birth;
She is my tender nurse; she gives me food;
But what's a creature, Lord, compared with Thee?
Or what's my mother, or my nurse to me?

I love the air; her dainty fruits refresh
My drooping soul, and to new sweets invite me;
Her shrill-mouth'd choirs sustain me with their flesh.
And with their polyphonian notes delight me:
But what's the air, or all the sweets that she
Can bless my soul withal, compared to Thee?

I love the sea; she is my fellow-creature,
My careful purveyor; she provides me store;
She walls me round; she makes my diet greater;
She wafts my treasure from a foreign shore:
But, Lord of oceans, when compared with Thee,
What is the ocean, or her wealth to me?

To heaven's high city I direct my journey,
Whose spangled suburbs entertain mine eye;
Mine eye, by contemplation's great attorney,
Transcends the crystal pavement of the sky.
But what is heaven, great God, compared to Thee?
Without Thy presence, heaven's no heaven to me.

Without Thy presence, earth gives no reflection:
Without Thy presence, sea affords no treasure;
Without Thy presence, air's a rank infection;
Without Thy presence, heaven itself no pleasure:
If not possess'd, if not enjoyed in Thee,
What's earth, or sea, or air, or heaven to me?

The highest honours that the world can boast,
Are subjects far too low for my desire;
Its brightest gleams of glory are, at most,
But dying sparkles of Thy living fire:
The brightest flames that earth can kindle, be
But nightly glowworms, if compared to Thee.

Without Thy presence, wealth is bags of cares;
Wisdom, but folly; joy, disquiet, sadness;
Friendship is treason, and delights are snares;
Pleasures, but pain; and mirth, but pleasing madness:
Without Thee, Lord, things be not what they be,
Nor have their being when compared with Thee.

In having all things, and not Thee, what have I?
Not having Thee, what have my labours got?
Let me enjoy but Thee, what have my labours got?
And having Thee alone, what have I not?
I wish nor sea nor land; nor would I be
Possess'd of heaven, heaven unpossess'd of Thee.

The Argument.

The Ninivites beleeve the word,
Their hearts retiu'ne mito the Lord;
In him they put their onely trust;
They niourne in sackcloth and in dust.


SECTION IX.

So said ; the Ninivites beleev'd the word,
Beleeved Jonas, and beleev'd the Lord.
They made no pause, nor jested at the newes,
Nor slighted it because it was a Jew's
Denouncement : no, nor did their gazing eyes
(As taken captive with such novelties)
Admire the stranger's garb, so quaint to theirs;
No idle chat possest their itching eares
The whilst he spake ; nor were their tongues on fier
To raile upon, or interrupt the cryer ;
Nor did they question whether true the message,
Or fals the prophet were that brought th' embassage.
But they gave faith to what he said : relented,
And (changing their miswandred wayes) repented;
Before the searching ayre could coole his word
Their hearts returned and beleev'd the Lord ;
And they, whose dainty lips were cloy'd while-ere
With cates and viands and with wanton cheare.
Doe now enjoyne their palats not to taste
The offal bread (for they proclaim'd a fast):
And they wliose looser bodies once did lie
Wrapt up in robes and silkes of princely dye,
Loe, now instead of robes in rags they mourne.
And all their silks doe into sackcloth turne:
They reade themselves sad lectures on the ground,
Learning to want as well as to abound.
The prince was not exempted, nor the peere,
Nor yet the richest, nor the poorest there ;
The old man was not freed, whose hoary age
Had even almost outronne his pilgrimage;
Nor yet the young, whose glasse (but new begun)
By course of nature had an age to runne:
For when that fatall word came to the king,
(ConvayM with speed, upon the nimble wing
Of flitting fame,) he straight dismounts his throne,
Forsakes his chaire of state he sate upon,
Disrob'd his body, and his head discrown'd,
In dust and ashes grov'ling on the ground ;
And when he rear'd his trembling corps againe,
(His haire all filthy with the dust he lay in)
He, clad in pensive sackcloth, did depose
Himself from state imperiall, and chose
To live a vassall, or a baser thing,
Than to usurpe the scepter of a king :
(Respectlesse of his pompe) he quite forgate
He was a monarch, mindelesse of his state ;
He neither sought to rule or be obay'd,
Nor with the sword nor with the scepter sway'd

MEDITA IX.

Is fasting then the thing that God requires ?
Can fasting expiate or slake those fires
That sinne hath blowne to such a mightie flame .'
Can sackcloth clothe a fault, or hide a shame ?
Can ashes cleanse thy blot, or purge thy offence .'
Or doe thy hands make heaven a recompence,
By strowing dust upon thy briny face ?
Are these the tricks to purchase heavenly grace ?
No ! though thou pine thyself with willing want,
Or face looke thinne, or carkas nere so gaunt,
Although thou worser weeds than sackcloth weare,
Or naked goe, or sleep in shirts of haire,
Or though thou chuse an ash-tub for thy bed,
Or make a daily dunghill on thy head;
Thy labour is not poys'd with equal gaines,
For thou hast nought but labour for thy paines.
Such holy madnesse God rejects, and loathes
That sinks no deeper than the skin or clothes:
'Tis not thine eyes which (taught to weepe by art)
Look red with teares (not guilty of thy heart):
'Tis not the holding of thy hands so high,
Nor yet the purer squinting of thine eye ;
'Tis not your mimick mouthes, your antick faces,
Your scripture phrases or affected graces.
Nor prodigall upbanding of thine eyes.
Whose gashfuU bals doe seeme to pelt the skies;
'Tis not the strickt reforming of your haire.
So close that all the neighbour skull is bare;
'Tis not the drooping of thy head so low.
Nor yet the low'ring of thy sullen brow.
Nor wolvish howling that disturbs the aire,
Nor repetitions, or your tedious prayer :
No, no, 'tis none of this that God regards ;
Such sort of fooles their owne applause rewards :
Such puppet plaies to heaven are strange and quaint.
Their service is unsweet and foully taint.
Their words fall fruitlesse from their idle braine.
But true repentance runnes in other straine ;
Where sad contrition harbours, there the heart
Is truely acquainted with the secret smart
Of past offences, hates the bosome sin
The most which most the soul took pleasure in ;
No crime unsifted, no sinne unpresented.
Can lurke unseene ; and scene, none unlamented.
The trouble soule's amazed witli dire aspects
Of lesser sinnes committed, and detects
The wounded conscience ; it cries amaine
For mercy, mercy, cries, and cries againe :
It sadly grieves, and soberly laments,
It yernes for grace, reformes, returnes, repents.
I, this is incense, whose accepted favour
Mounts up the heavenly throne and findeth favour:
I, this is it whose valour never failes—
With God it stoutly wrestles and prevailes :
I, this is it that pearces heaven above.
Never returning home (like Noah's dove)
But brings an olive- leafe, or some increase,
That workes salvation and etemall peace.