Soul, dost thou shudder at the narrow tomb?
Heart, dost thou dread to moulder in the dust—
To meet the fate that all things mortal must,
Strength in its pride, and beauty in its bloom?
What have ye done to merit nobler doom?
How used one life that ye for more should lust?
Time in his course doth all things downward thrust:
The unborn generations wait for room!
Blind we were born, blind die: yet we must still
Take God to task with Whither? Whence? and Why?
What if God, giving us our wish and will,

PART I
Queen Hilda rode along the lines,
And she was young and fair;
And forward on her shoulders fell
The heavy braids of hair:
No gold was ever dug from earth
Like that burnished there –
No sky so blue as were her eyes
Had man seen anywhere.

'Twas so her gay court poets sang,
And we believed it true.
But men must fight for golden hair
And die for eyes of blue!
Cheer after cheer, the long half mile
(It has been ever thus),
And evermore her winsome smile
She turned and turned on us.

The punishment of luxury and intemperance.

When Isr'el sins, the Lord reproves
And fills their hearts with dread;
Yet he forgives the men he loves,
And sends them heav'nly bread.

He fed them with a lib'ral hand,
And made his treasures known;
He gave the midnight clouds command
To pour provision down.

The manna, like a morning shower,
Lay thick around their feet
The corn of heav'n, so light, so pure,
As though 'twere angels' meat.

But they in murm'ring language said,
"Manna is all our feast;

Holiness and comfort from the word.

ver. 128

Lord, I esteem thy judgments right,
And all thy statutes just;
Thence I maintain a constant fight
With every flatt'ring lust.

ver. 97,9

Thy precepts often I survey;
I keep thy law in sight,
Through all the business of the day,
To form my actions right.

ver. 62

My heart in midnight silence cries,
"How sweet thy comforts be!"
My thoughts in holy wonder rise,
And bring their thanks to thee.

ver. 162

And when my spirit drinks her fill

Prayer for quickening grace.

ver. 25,37

My soul lies cleaving to the dust;
Lord, give me life divine;
From vain desires and every lust
Turn off these eyes of mine.

I need the influence of thy grace
To speed me in thy way,
Lest I should loiter in my race,
Or turn my feet astray.

ver. 107

When sore afflictions press me down,
I need thy quick'ning powers;
Thy word that I have rested on
Shall help my heaviest hours.

ver. 156,40

Are not thy mercies sovereign still,

Intemperance punished and pardoned.

Vain man, on foolish pleasures bent,
Prepares for his own punishment;
What pains, what loathsome maladies,
From luxury and lust arise!

The drunkard feels his vitals waste,
Yet drowns his health to please his taste;
Till all his active powers are lost,
And fainting life draws near the dust.

The glutton groans, and loathes to eat,
His soul abhors delicious meat;
Nature, with heavy loads oppressed,
Would yield to death to be released.

Then how the frighted sinners fly

In seed time learn, in harvest teach, in winter enjoy.
Drive your cart and your plow over the bones of the dead.
The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom.
Prudence is a rich, ugly old maid courted by Incapacity.
He who desires but acts not, breeds pestilence.
The cut worm forgives the plow.
Dip him in the river who loves water.
A fool sees not the same tree that a wise man sees.
He whose face gives no light, shall never become a star.
Eternity is in love with the productions of time.

It hurts my pride that I should be
The issue of a night of lust;
Yet even Bishops, you'll agree,
Obey the biologic 'must';
Though no doubt with more dignity
Than we of layman dust.

I think the Lord made a mistake
When he designed the human race,
That man and angel in the make
Should have brutality for base.
Jehovah might have planned at least
Not to confound us with the beast.

So with humiliation I
Think of my basic origin;
And yet with some relief I sigh,--

Prepare, prepare, new Guests draw near
And on the brink of Hell appear.
Kindle fresh Flame of Sulphur there.
Assemble all ye Fiends,
Wait for the dreadful ends
Of impious Men, who far excell
All th'Inhabitants of Hell.
Let 'em come, Let 'em come,
To an Eternal dreadful Doom,
Let 'em come, Let 'em come.
In Mischiefs they have all the Damn'd out-done;
Here they shall weep, and shall unpitty'd groan,
Here they shall howl, and make Eternal moan.
By Bloud and Lust they have deserv'd so well,

An Epithaliamium

So Man, grown vigorous now,
Holds himself ripe to breed,
Daily devises how
To ejaculate his seed
And boldly fertilize
The black womb of the unconsenting skies.

Some now alive expect
(I am told) to see the large,
Steel member grow erect,
Turgid with the fierce charge
Of our whole planet's skill,
Courage, wealth, knowledge, concentrated will,

Straining with lust to stamp
Our likeness on the abyss-
Bombs, gallows, Belsen camp,