Whil'st I, the Sunne's bright Face may view, I will no meaner Light pursue .

When , with a serious musing, I behold
The gratefull, and obsequious Marigold ,
How duely, ev'ry morning, she displayes
Her open breast, when Titan spreads his Rayes;
How she observes him in his daily walke,
Still bending towards him, her tender stalke;
How, when he downe declines, she droopes and mournes,
Bedew'd (as 'twere) with teares, till he returnes;
And, how she vailes her Flow'rs , when he is gone,
As if she scorned to be looked on
By an inferiour Eye ; or, did contemne
To wayt upon a meaner Light , than Him .
When this I meditate, me-thinkes, the Flowers
Have spirits , farre more generous, than ours;
And, give us faire Examples, to despise
The servile Fawnings, and Idolatries,
Wherewith we court these earthly things below,
Which merit not the service we bestow.
But, oh my God! though groveling I appeare
Upon the Ground, (and have a rooting here,
Which hales me downwards) yet in my desire,
To that, which is above mee, I aspire:
And, all my best Affections I professe
To Him , that is the Sunne of Righteousnesse .
Oh! keepe the Morning of his Incarnation ,
The burning Noone tide of his bitter Passion ,
The Night of his Descending , and the Height
Of his Ascension , ever in my sight:
That imitating him, in what I may,
I never follow an inferiour Way .