Page:Poems of Anne Countess of Winchilsea 1903.djvu/152

14  Adher'd too in their Wreck, and in their Ruin shar'd. Now by the Wheels inevitable Round, With them thrown prostrate to the humble Ground, No more she takes (instructed by that Fall) For fix'd, or worth her thought, this rolling Ball: Tow'rds a more certain Station she aspires, Unshaken by Revolts, and owns no less Desires. But all in vain are Pray'rs, extatick Thoughts, Recover'd Moments, and retracted Faults, Retirement, which the World Moroseness calls, Abandon'd Pleasures in Monastick Walls: These, but at distance, towards that purpose tend, The lowly Means to an exalted End; Which He must perfect, who allots her Stay, And That, accomplish'd, will direct the way. Pity her restless Cares, and weary Strife, And point some Issue to escaping Life; Which so dismiss' d, no Pen or Human Speech Th' ineffable Recess can ever teach: Th' Expanse, the Light, the Harmony, the Throng, The Bride's Attendance, and the Bridal Song, The numerous Mansions, and th' immortal Tree, No Eye, unpurg'd by Death, must ever see, Or Waves which through that wond'rous City roll. Rest then content, my too impatient Soul; Observe but here the easie Precepts given, Then wait with chearful hope, till Heaven be known in Heaven.  ON MYSELFE Good Heav'n, I thank thee, since it was design'd I shou'd be fram'd, but of the weaker kinde, That yet, my Soul, is rescu'd from the Love Of all those Trifles, which their Passions move. Pleasures, and Praise, and Plenty haue with me 