Raising my drooping head, overcharged with thought, Having each scene of life before me brought; I chid myself because I durst repine At nature's laws, or those that were divine. Throughout the whole creation 'tis the same, The fuel is devoured by the flame; Each peaceful, harmless, unoffending thing Is to the offender made an offering: Even God himself. Hold, my aspiring thought; Descend, my muse, thy flight too high is wrought; Tell not, how He, all peaceful and all kind, Was offered for the vilest of mankind; A victim for the vilest was designed. Descend, I say, my Muse; low things afford Theams high enough for thee: touch not the word, Till he hath touched thy wings with grace divine, Then, only his, thou shalt the world decline. The harmless dove the falcon doth betray; The lamb is to the wolf become a prey; And men to whom free will heaven doth impart, To follow still the counsels of his heart, If wracked with doubt; if harmless, he designs Peace to his heart, and still his wish confines Justice to peace, and love to quiet joins. Why then the dove-like fate will sure be his; Short is his life, unsettled is his bliss: Hard fate; that choice we eagerly pursue, Is, or to be undone, or to undo.
Anne Wharton 1659-1685