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A HAPPY LIFE.
How happy is he born or taught, That serveth not another's will; Whose armour is his honest thought, And simple truth his highest skill.
Whose pa.s.sions not his masters are; Whose soul is still prepared for death; Not tied unto the world with care Of prince's ear, or vulgar breath.
Who hath his life from rumours freed; Whose conscience is his strong retreat: Whose state can neither flatterers feed, Nor ruin make oppressors great.
Who envies none whom chance doth raise, Or vice: who never understood How deepest wounds are given with praise; Nor rules of state, but rules of good.
Who G.o.d doth late and early pray More of his grace than gifts to lend; And entertains the harmless day With a well-chosen book or friend.
This man is freed from servile bands Of hope to rise or fear to fall; Lord of himself, though not of lands; And having nothing, yet hath all.
SIR HENRY WOTTON.
[Notes: _Sir Henry Wotton_ (1568-1639). A poet, amba.s.sador, and miscellaneous writer, in the reign of James I.
_Born or taught_ = whether from natural character or by training.
_Nor ruin make oppressors great_ = nor _his_ ruin, &c.
_How deepest wounds are given with praise_. How praise may only cover some concealed injury.]
MAN'S SERVANTS.
For us the winds do blow; The earth doth rest, heaven move, and fountains flow.
Nothing we see but means our good, As our delight, or as our treasure: The whole is either cupboard of our food, Or cabinet of pleasure.
The stars have us to bed; Night draws the curtain, which the sun withdraws; Music and light attend our head; All things unto our flesh are kind In their descent and being; to our mind In their ascent and cause.
More servants wait on Man Than he'll take notice of. In every path He treads down that which doth befriend him, When sickness makes him pale and wan.
O mighty love! Man is one world, and hath Another to attend him.
Since, then, My G.o.d, Thou hast So brave a palace built, O dwell in it, That it may dwell with Thee at last!
Till then afford us so much wit That, as the world serves _us_, we may serve _Thee_, And both thy servants be.
GEORGE HERBERT.
[Notes: _George Herbert_ (1593-1632). A clergyman of the Church of England, the author of many religious works in prose and poetry. His poetry is overfull of conceits, but in spite of these is eminently graceful and rich with fancy.
_The stars have its to led, i.e.,_ conduct, or show us to bed.
_All things unto our flesh are kind, &c., i.e.,_ as they minister to the needs of our body here below, so they minister to the mind by leading us to think of the Higher Cause that brings them into being. The words _descent_ and _accent_ are not to be pressed; they are rather balanced one against the other, according to the fas.h.i.+on of the day.]
VIRTUE.
Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright, The bridal of the earth and sky, The dew shall weep thy fall to-night; For thou must die.
Sweet rose, whose hue, angry and brave, Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, Thy root is ever in its grave, And thou must die.
Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses, A box where sweets compacted lie, My music shows ye have your closes, And all must die.
Only a sweet and virtuous soul, Like seasoned timber, never gives; But though the whole world turn to coal, Then chiefly lives.
GEORGE HERBERT.
[Note:----_The bridal of the earth and sky, i.e.,_ in which all the beauties of sky and earth are united.]
