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| COLLECT 1 thy soul into one sphere | |
| Of light, and ’bove the earth it rear: | |
| Those wild scatter’d thoughts that erst | |
| Lay loosely in the world dispersed, | |
| Call in: thy spirit thus knit in one | 5 |
| Fair lucid orb, thy fears be gone | |
| Like vain impostures of the night | |
| That fly before the morning bright. | |
| Then with pure eyes thou shalt behold | |
| How the First Goodness doth infold | 10 |
| All things in loving tender arms; | |
| That deemèd mischiefs are no harms, | |
| But sovereign salves and skilful cures | |
| Of greater woes the world endures; | |
| That man’s stout soul may win a state | 15 |
| Far raised above the reach of Fate. | |
| |
| Then wilt thou say, God rules the world, | |
| Though mountain over mountain hurled | |
| Be pitch’d amid the foaming main, | |
| Which busy winds to wrath constrain; | 20 |
| Though inward tempests fiercely rock | |
| The tott’ring earth, that with the shock | |
| High spires and heavy rocks fall down, | |
| With their own weight drove into ground; | |
| Though pitchy blasts from hell upborne | 25 |
| Stop the outgoings of the morn, | |
| And Nature play her fiery games | |
| In this forced night with fulgurant flames; | |
| Baring by fits for more affright | |
| The pale dead visages, ghastly sight, | 30 |
| Of men astonish’d at the stoure | |
| Of heaven’s great rage, the rattling shower | |
| Of hail, the hoarse bellowing of thunder, | |
| Their own loud shrieks made mad with wonder; | |
| All this confusion cannot move | 35 |
| The purgèd mind, freed from the love | |
| Of commerce with her body dear, | |
| Cell of sad thoughts, sole spring of fear. | |
| |
| Power, Wisdom, Goodness sure did frame | |
| This universe and still guide the same. | 40 |
| But thoughts from passions sprung, deceive | |
| Vain mortals. No man can contrive | |
| A better course than what’s been run | |
| Since the first circuit of the sun. | |
| |
| He that beholds all from on high | 45 |
| Knows better what to do than I. | |
| I’m not mine own: should I repine | |
| If He dispose of what’s not mine? | |
| Purge but thy soul of blind self-will, | |
| Thou straight shall see God doth no ill. | 50 |
| The world He fills with the bright rays | |
| Of His free goodness. He displays | |
| Himself throughout. Like common air | |
| That Spirit of Life through all doth fare, | |
| Sucked in by them as vital breath | 55 |
| That willingly embrace not death. | |
| But those that with that living law | |
| Be unacquainted, cares do gnaw; | |
| Mistrust of God’s good providence | |
| Doth daily vex their wearied sense. | 60 |
