who would gladly part with their whole bodies rather than offend, and could not yet so rise above the invasions of the senses.  Here, as in less important things, our business is not to speculate what we would do in other circumstances, but to perform the duty of the moment, the one true preparation for the duty to come.  Possibly, however, the right development of our human relations in the world may be a more difficult and more important task still than this condition of divine alienation.  To find God in others is better than to grow solely in the discovery of him in ourselves, if indeed the latter were possible.

DEVOTION.

Good God, when them thy inward grace dost shower
Into my breast,
How full of light and lively power
Is then my soul! 
How am I blest! 
How can I then all difficulties devour! 
Thy might,
Thy spright,
With ease my cumbrous enemy control.

If thou once turn away thy face and hide
Thy cheerful look,
My feeble flesh may not abide
That dreadful stound; hour.
I cannot brook
Thy absence.  My heart, with care and grief then gride,
Doth fail,
Doth quail;
My life steals from me at that hidden wound.

My fancy’s then a burden to my mind;
Mine anxious thought
Betrays my reason, makes me blind;
Near dangers drad dreaded.
Make me distraught;
Surprised with fear my senses all I find: 
In hell
I dwell,
Oppressed with horror, pain, and sorrow sad.

  My former resolutions all are fled—­
        Slipped over my tongue;
  My faith, my hope, and joy are dead. 
        Assist my heart,
        Rather than my song,
  My God, my Saviour!  When I’m ill-bested. 
          Stand by,
          And I
  Shall bear with courage undeserved smart.

  THE PHILOSOPHER’S DEVOTION.

  Sing aloud!—­His praise rehearse
  Who hath made the universe. 
  He the boundless heavens has spread,
  All the vital orbs has kned, kneaded.
  He that on Olympus high
  Tends his flocks with watchful eye,
  And this eye has multiplied suns, as centres of systems.
  Midst each flock for to reside. 
  Thus, as round about they stray,
  Toucheth[137] each with outstretched ray;
  Nimble they hold on their way,
  Shaping out their night and day. 
  Summer, winter, autumn, spring,
  Their inclined axes bring. 
  Never slack they; none respires,
  Dancing round their central fires.

  In due order as they move,
  Echoes sweet be gently drove
  Thorough heaven’s vast hollowness,
  Which unto all corners press: 
  Music that the heart of Jove
  Moves to joy and sportful love;
  Fills the listening sailers’ ears
  Riding on the wandering spheres: 
  Neither speech nor language is
  Where their voice is not transmiss.