19. Meditations Upon the Day Before the Sunrising
But all this while, where's he whose golden rays Drives night away and beautifies our days? Where's he whose goodly face doth warm and heal, And show us what the darksome nights conceal? Where's he that thaws our ice, drives cold away? Let's have him, or we care not for the day.
Thus 'tis with who partakers are of grace, There's nought to them like their Redeemer's face.
he mole's a creature very smooth and slick, She digs i' th' dirt, but 'twill not on her stick; So's he who counts this world his greatest gains, Yet nothing gets but's labour for his pains. Earth's the mole's element, she can't abide To be above ground, dirt heaps are her pride; And he is like her who the worldling plays, He imitates her in her work and ways. Poor silly mole, that thou should'st love to be Where thou nor sun, nor moon, nor stars can see. But O! how silly's he who doth not care So he gets earth, to have of heaven a share!
