ROBERT SOUTHWELL

The saddest birds a season find to sing,The roughest storm a calm may soon allay;Thus with succeeding turns God tempereth all,That men may hope to rise yet fear to fall.

God gave Himself to you: give yourself to God.

No joy so great but runneth to an end,No hap so hard but may in fine amend.

Shun delays, they breed remorse;Take thy time while time is lent thee;Creeping snails have weakest force,Fly their fault lest thou repent thee.Good is best when soonest wrought,Linger'd labours come to nought.

Plough not the seas, sow not the sands,Leave off your idle pain;Seek other mistress for your minds,Love's service is in vain.

Hoist up sail while gale doth last, Tide and wind stay no man's pleasure.

Not where I breathe, but where I love, I live.

What thought can think, another thought can mend.

I wealthiest am when richest in remorse.

Time wears all his locks before,Take thy hold upon his forehead;When he flies he turns no more,And behind his scalp is naked.Works adjourn'd have many stays,Long demurs breed new delays.

When Fortune smiles, I smile to think how quickly she will frown.

Hoist up sail while gale doth last, Tide and wind stay no man's pleasure.

God gave Himself to you: give yourself to God.

Behold a silly tender babe,In freezing winter night,In homely manger trembling lies;Alas! a piteous sight.

I wealthiest am when richest in remorse.

What thought can think, another thought can mend.

My faultless breast the furnace is, the fuel wounding thorns;Love is the fire and sighs the smoke, the ashes shame and scorns;The fuel Justice layeth on, and Mercy blows the coals;The metal in this furnace wrought are men's defiled souls.

The path to Heaven is narrow, rough and full of wearisome and trying ascents, nor can it be trodden without great toil; and therefore wrong is their way, gross their error, and assured their ruin who, after the testimony of so many thousands of saints, will not learn where to settle their footing.

I feel no care of coin,Well-doing is my wealth;My mind to me an empire is,While grace affordeth health.

The saddest birds a season find to sing,The roughest storm a calm may soon allay;Thus with succeeding turns God tempereth all,That men may hope to rise yet fear to fall.

Not where I breathe, but where I love, I live.

Man's mind a mirror is of heavenly sights,A brief wherein all marvels summèd lie,Of fairest forms and sweetest shapes the store,Most graceful all, yet thought may grace them more.

No joy so great but runneth to an end,No hap so hard but may in fine amend.

Where sin was hatch'd, let tears now wash the nest, Where life was lost, recover life with cries.

Plough not the seas, sow not the sands,Leave off your idle pain;Seek other mistress for your minds,Love's service is in vain.

My conscience is my crown,Contented thoughts my rest;My heart is happy in itself,My bliss is in my breast.Enough I reckon wealth;A mean the surest lot,That lies too high for base contempt,Too low for envy's shot.

Times go by turns, and chances change by course, from foul to fair, from better hap to worse.

Shun delays, they breed remorse;Take thy time while time is lent thee;Creeping snails have weakest force,Fly their fault lest thou repent thee.Good is best when soonest wrought,Linger'd labours come to nought.

My mind to me an empire is.

As in hoary winter's night stood shivering in the snow,Surprised I was with sudden heat which made my heart to glow;And lifting up a fearful eye to view what fire was near,A pretty babe all burning bright did in the air appear.

Time wears all his locks before,Take thy hold upon his forehead;When he flies he turns no more,And behind his scalp is naked.Works adjourn'd have many stays,Long demurs breed new delays.