As he that sees a dark and shady grove,
Stays not, but looks beyond it on the sky;
So when I view my sins, mine eyes remove
More backward still, and to that water fly,
Which is above the heav'ns, whose spring and rest
Is in my dear Redeemer's pierced side.
O blessed streams! either ye do prevent
And stop our sins from growing thick and wide,
Or else give tears to drown them, as they grow.
In you Redemption measures all my time,
And spreads the plaster equal to the crime;
You taught the book of life my name, that so
What ever future sins should me miscall,
Your first acquaintance might discredit all.
The inundation of the Spring
Enlarges every soul --
It sweeps the tenement away
But leaves the Water whole --
In which the soul at first estranged --
Seeks faintly for its shore
But acclimated -- pines no more
For that Peninsula --
The waters chased him as he fled,
Not daring look behind --
A billow whispered in his Ear,
"Come home with me, my friend --
My parlor is of shriven glass,
My pantry has a fish
For every palate in the Year" --
To this revolting bliss
The object floating at his side
Made no distinct reply.
Water makes many Beds
For those averse to sleep --
Its awful chamber open stands --
Its Curtains blandly sweep --
Abhorrent is the Rest
In undulating Rooms
Whose Amplitude no end invades --
Whose Axis never comes.