Sir Walter Raleigh.
By Sir Walter Raleigh, in the unquiett rest of his last sickness.[12]
Eternal Mover, whose diffused glory
To shew our groveling reason what thou art,
Infoldes itself in cloudes of restless story,
Where man (the proudest creature) acts his parte;
Whom yett, alas! I know not why, we call
The world’s contracted sunn, the little all.
For what are wee, but lumpes of walking clay?
What are our vaunts? whence should our spirits rise?
Are not brute beasts as strong, and birds as gay;
Trees longer liv’d, and creeping thinges as wise?
Onlie our Soules recieve more inward light,
To feel our weakness, and confess thy might.
Lett these pure noates ascend unto thie throne,
Where majestie doth sitt with mercy crown’d;
Where my redeemer lives, in whome alone
The errors of my wandringe life are drown’d.
Where all the quire of heaven resound thi fame,
That none but thine, thine is the saving name.
Therefore my Soule, Joye in the midst of paine,
That Christ, that conquer’d Hell, shall from above
With greater triumphs yett returne againe,
And conquer his own justice with his love;
Commandinge earth and Seas to render those
Unto his bliss, for whome hee pay’d his woes.
Nowe have I doune, now are my joies at peace,
And now my joies are stronger than my griefe;
I feele those comforts that shall never cease,
Future in hopes, but present in reliefe.
Thy words are true, thy promises are just,
And thou wilt knowe thy marked flock in dust.
[12] Raleigh was born in 1552, and executed 29th October, 1618, to the eternal disgrace of the reign of James I.