Happy me! o happy sheepe! Whom my God vouchsafes to keepe; Even my God, Even he it is, That points me to these wayes of blisse; On whose pastures cheereful spring, All the yeare doth sit and sing, And rejoycing smiles to see Their greene backs were his liverie: Pleasure sings my soule to rest, Plenty weares me at her brest, Whose sweet temper teaches me Nor wanton, nor in want to be. At my feet the blubb'ring Mountaine Weeping, melts into a Fountaine, Whose soft silver-sweating streames Make high Noone forget his beames: When my waiward breath is flying, Hee calls home my soule from dying, Strokes and tames my rabid Griefe, And does wooe me into life: When my simple weaknesse strayes, (Tangled in forbidden wayes) Hee (my Shepheard) is my Guide, Hee's before me, on my side, And behind me, he beguiles Craft in all her knotty wiles; Hee expounds the giddy wonder Of my weary steps, and under Spreads a Path cleare as the Day, Where no churlish rub saies nay To my joy-conducted Feet, Whil'st they Gladly goe to meet Grace and peace, to meet new laies Tun'd to my great Shepheards praise. Come now all yee terrors, sally Muster forth into the valley, Where triumphant darknesse hovers With a sable wing, that covers Brooding Horror. Come thou Death, Let the damps of thy dull Breath Overshadow even the shade, And make darknesse selfe afraid; There my feet, even there shall find Way for a resolved mind. Still my Shepheard, still my God Thou art with me, Still thy rod, And thy staffe, whose influence Gives direction, gives defence. At the whisper of thy Word Crown'd abundance spreads my Bord: While I feast, my foes doe feed Their rank malice not their need, So that with the self-same bread They are starv'd, and I am fed. How my head in ointment swims! How my cup orelooks her Brims! So, even so still may I move By the Line of thy deare Love; Still may thy sweet mercy spread A shady Arme above my head, About my Paths, so shall I find The faire Center of my mind Thy Temple, and those lovely walls Bright ever with a beame that falls Fresh from the pure glance of thine eye, Lighting to Eternity. There I'le dwell for ever, there Will I find a purer aire To feed my Life with, there I'le sup Balme and Nectar in my Cup, And thence my ripe soule will I breath Warme into the Armes of Death. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE PILGRIM FATHERS by JOHN PIERPONT THE PRINCESS: SONG by ALFRED TENNYSON THE FINAL WAR by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE TO THE RIVER CHERWELL by WILLIAM LISLE BOWLES GAYHEART, A STORY OF DEFEAT by DANA BURNET OBSERVATIONS IN THE ART OF ENGLISH POESY: 17. AN ELEGY by THOMAS CAMPION |