Weighing the steadfastness and
Of some mean things which here below reside,
Where birds like watchful clocks the noiseless
And intercourse of times divide;
Where bees at night get home and hive, and
Early, as well as late,
Rise with the sun, and set in the same bowers;
I would, said I, my God would
The staidness of these things to man! for
To His divine appointments ever cleave,
And no new business breaks their peace;
The birds nor sow nor reap, yet sup and dine;
The flowers without clothes live,
Yet Solomon was never dressed so fine.
Man hath still either toys or care;
He hath no root, nor to one place is tied,
But ever restless and
About this earth doth run and ride;
He knows he hath a home, but scarce knows where;
He says it is so
That he hath quite forgot how to go there.
He knocks at all doors, strays and roams,
Nay, hath not so much wit as some stones have,
Which in the darkest nights point to their
By some hid sense their Maker gave;
Man is the shuttle, to whose winding
And passage through these
God ordered motion, but ordained no rest.
