224 THE POEMS OF ANNE �But oh! this God, the Glorious Architect �Of this fair world, of this large Globe we see, �Seems those who trust him most, most to neglect, Else my Teresa, else, how could itt be, �That all his storms attend, and tempests fall on me. 20 �The Proud he hates, yett me he does expose Empty of all things, naked to their scorn. �His world, on them he liberally bestows, �Theirs are his Vines, his feilds, his flocks, his corn, And all that can sustain, and all that can adorn. �These are the men, posses the mighty store, �Compasse the Earth, and with the boundlesse Deep �All they bestow, receive again, with more ; Whilst I, in fears to loose, and cares to keep, Obtain but daily bread, with interrupted sleep. 30 �Teresa �Ardelia hold, if more thou hast to say On this pernitious subject, lett it dye ; �The subtill Fiend, that leads thy soul astray, Thou doest not in this hour of sin, descry, Oh ! if we wander once, how soon the serpent's nigh. �Art thou content, to have thy portion here, The Tyrian purple, and the costly fare, �The purchase waits thee, but will cost thee dear, For mighty sums of Vice, thou must not spare, Do, as the wicked does, and thou, with him may'st �share ? 40 �Canst thou repine, that Earth is not thy lott, And in that want, thy bounteous God distrust, �Confining all his mercys to that spott? �Others of weight, acknowledge sure, we must, Or be to truth oppos'd, and Providence unjust. ��� �
Page:Poems of Anne Countess of Winchilsea 1903.djvu/362
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