Selections From American Poetry | Page 9

They kept one tune, and played on the
same string,
Seeming to glory in their little art.
Shall creatures abject thus their
voices raise?
And in their kind resound their
Master's praise:
Whilst I, as mute, can warble forth no
higher lays.

When I behold the heavens as in their
prime,
And then the earth (though old) still
clad in green,
The stones and trees, insensible of
time,
Nor age nor wrinkle on their front
are seen;
If winter come, and greenness then do
fade,
A spring returns, and they more
youthful made;
But Man grows old, lies down, remains
where once he's
laid.
MICHAEL WIGGLESWORTH
THE DAY OF DOOM
SOUNDING OF THE LAST TRUMP
Still was the night, Serene & Bright,
when all Men sleeping lay;
Calm was the season, & carnal reason
thought so 'twould last for ay.
Soul, take thine ease, let sorrow cease,

much good thou hast in store:
This was their Song, their Cups among,
the Evening before.

Wallowing in all kind of sin,
vile wretches lay secure:
The best of men had scarcely then
their Lamps kept in good ure.
Virgins unwise, who through disguise
amongst the best were number'd,
Had closed their eyes; yea, and the wise
through sloth and frailty slumber'd.

For at midnight brake forth a Light,
which turn'd the night to day,
And speedily a hideous cry