Tixall Poetry.
237
Which nature in a lofty rock hath built;
A throne, as free from trouble, as from guilt;
Where when my soul her wings doth raise,
Above what worldlings fear or praise,
With innocence, and quiet pride, I'le sit,
And see the humble waves pay tribute to my feet.
Oh! life divine, when free from joys diseas'd!
Not alwais merry, but'tis alwais pleas'd.
A throne, as free from trouble, as from guilt;
Where when my soul her wings doth raise,
Above what worldlings fear or praise,
With innocence, and quiet pride, I'le sit,
And see the humble waves pay tribute to my feet.
Oh! life divine, when free from joys diseas'd!
Not alwais merry, but'tis alwais pleas'd.
V.
A heart, which is too great a thing
To be a present for a Persian king,
Which God himselfe would have to be his court,
Where angels would officiously resort,
From its own hight would much decline,
If this converse it should ressigne,
Ill natur'd world for thine.
Thy unwise rigour hath thy empire lost,
It hath not only set me free,
But it hath made me see,
They only can of thy possession boast,
Who do enjoy thee least, and understand thee most
A heart, which is too great a thing
To be a present for a Persian king,
Which God himselfe would have to be his court,
Where angels would officiously resort,
From its own hight would much decline,
If this converse it should ressigne,
Ill natur'd world for thine.
Thy unwise rigour hath thy empire lost,
It hath not only set me free,
But it hath made me see,
They only can of thy possession boast,
Who do enjoy thee least, and understand thee most
