WILLIAM HABINGTON

In those white cloisters live secure

From the rude blasts of wanton breath !

Each hour more innocent and pure, Till you shall wither into death.

Then that which living gave you room, Your glorious sepulchre shall be.

There wants no marble for a tomb

Whose breast hath marble been to me.

298. Nox Nocti Indicat Scientiam

TVTHEN I survey the bright

• • Celestial sphere;

So rich with jewels hung, that Night Doth like an Ethiop bride appear:

My soul her wings doth spread

And heavenward flies, Th' Almighty's mysteries to read In the large volumes of the skies.

For the bright firmament

Shoots forth no flame So silent, but is eloquent

In speaking the Creator's name.

No unregarded star

Contracts its light Into so small a character,

Removed far from our human sight,

But if we steadfast look We shall discern In it, as in some holy book,

How man may heavenly knowledge learn*

303-,

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