by Anne Killigrew
Tell me thou safest end of all our woe,
Why wretched mortals do avoid thee so.
Thou gentle drier o'th' afflicted's tears
Thou noble ender of the coward's fears.
Thou sweet repose to lovers sad dispaire,
Thou calm t'ambitions rough tempestuous care.
If in regard of bliss thou wert a curse,
And then the joys of Paradise art worse,
Yet after Man from his first Station fell,
And God from Eden Adam did expel,
Thou wert no more an evil but relief,
The balm and cure to ev'ry human grief
Through thee (what man had forfeited before)
He now enjoys, and ne'er can loose it more.
No subtle serpents in the grave betray,
Worms on the body there, not soul do prey,
No vice there tempts, no terrors there afright,
No coze'ning affords a false delight.
No vain contentions do that peace annoy,
No fierce alarms break the lasting joy.
Ah since from thee so many blessings flow,
Such real good as life can never know,
Come when thou wilt, in they afrightning'st best
Thy shape shall never make thy welcome less,
Thou mayst to joy, but ne'er to fear give birth
Thou best, as well as certain'st on Earth
Fly thee? May travellers then fly their rest,
And hungry infants fly the prof'rd brest.
No, those that faint and tremble at thy Name,
Fly from their good on a mistaken fame.
Thus childish fear did Israel of old
From Plenty and the Promis'd Land with-hold
They fancy'd Giants, and refus'd to go'
When Canaan did with milk and honey flow.
Robin's Nest 