Classic Poem

Early, while yet the dark was gay,
And gilt with stars, more trim than day:
Heav'ns Lily , and the Earth's chast. Rose :
The green, immortal BRANCH arose;
And in a solitary place
Bow'd to his father his bless'd face.
If this calm season pleas'd my Prince ,
Whose fullness no need could evince,
Why should not I poor, silly sheep
His hours , as well as practice keep?
Not that his hand is tyed to these,
From whom time holds his transient Lease :
But mornings , new Creations are,
When men all night sav'd by his Care,
Are still reviv'd; and well he may
Expect them grateful with the day.
So for that first drawght of his hand,
Which finish'd heav'n and sea and land,
The Sons of God their thanks did bring,
And all the Morning-stars did sing.
Besides, as his part heretofore
The firstlings were of all, that bore:
So now each day from all he saves,
Their Soul's first thoughts and fruits he craves.
This makes him daily shed and shower
His graces at this early hour;
Which both his Care and Kindness show,
Chearing the good: quickning the slow.
As holy friends mourn at delay,
And think each minute an hour's stay:
So his divine and loving Dove
With longing throws doth heave and move,
And soare about us, while we sleep:
Sometimes quite through that lock doth peep ,
And shine; but always without fail
Before the slow Sun can unveile,
In new Compassions breaks like light,
And Morning-looks , which scatter night.
And wilt thou let thy creature be
When thou hast watch'd, asleep to thee?
Why to unwellcome, loath'd surprises
Do'st leave him, having left his vices?
Since these, if suffer'd, may again
Lead back the living , to the slain .
O change this Scourge ! or, if as yet
None less will my transgressions fit:
Dissolve, dissolve! death cannot do
What I would not submit unto.