_Amen_.
I shall now give two or three of his longer poems, which are not long, and then a few of his short ones.

The best known is the following, but it is not so well known that I must therefore omit it.
HIS LITANY TO THE HOLY SPIRIT.
In the hour of my distress, When temptations me oppress, And when I my sins confess, Sweet Spirit, comfort me.
When I lie within my bed, Sick in heart, and sick in head, And with doubts discomforted, Sweet Spirit, comfort me.
When the house doth sigh and weep, And the world is drowned in sleep, Yet mine eyes the watch do keep, Sweet Spirit, comfort me.
When the artless doctor sees _without skill._ No one hope, but of his fees, And his skill runs on the lees, Sweet Spirit, comfort me.
When his potion and his pill, His or none or little skill, Meet for nothing but to kill, Sweet Spirit, comfort me.
When the passing-bell doth toll, And the furies in a shoal Come to fright a parting soul, Sweet Spirit, comfort me.
When the tapers now burn blue, And the comforters are few, And that number more than true, Sweet Spirit, comfort me.
When the priest his last hath prayed, And I nod to what is said, 'Cause my speech is now decayed, Sweet Spirit, comfort me.
When God knows I'm tossed about, Either with despair or doubt, Yet, before the glass be out, Sweet Spirit, comfort me.
When the tempter me pursu'th With the sins of all my youth, And half damns me with untruth, Sweet Spirit, comfort me.
When the flames and hellish cries Fright mine ears and fright mine eyes, And all terrors me surprise, Sweet Spirit, comfort me.
When the judgment is revealed, And that opened which was sealed; When to thee I have appealed, Sweet Spirit, comfort me.
THE WHITE ISLAND, OR PLACE OF THE BLEST.
In this world, the Isle of Dreams, While we sit by sorrow's streams, Tears and terrors are our themes, Reciting; But when once from hence we fly, More and more approaching nigh Unto young eternity, Uniting; In that whiter island, where Things are evermore sincere; Candour here and lustre there, Delighting: There no monstrous fancies shall Out of hell an horror call, To create, or cause at all, Affrighting.
There, in calm and cooling sleep We our eyes shall never steep, But eternal watch shall keep, Attending Pleasures such as shall pursue Me immortalized and you; And fresh joys, as never too Have ending.
TO DEATH.
Thou bid'st me come away; And I'll no longer stay Than for to shed some tears For faults of former years; And to repent some crimes Done in the present times; And next, to take a bit Of bread, and wine with it; To don my robes of love, Fit for the place above; To gird my loins about With charity throughout, And so to travel hence With feet of innocence: These done, I'll only cry, "God, mercy!" and so die.
ETERNITY.
O years and age, farewell! Behold I go Where I do know Infinity to dwell.
And these mine eyes shall see All times, how they Are lost i' th' sea Of vast eternity, Where never moon shall sway The stars; but she And night shall be Drowned in one endless day.
THE GOODNESS OF HIS GOD.
When winds and seas do rage, And threaten to undo me, Thou dost their wrath assuage, If I but call unto thee.
A mighty storm last night Did seek my soul to swallow; But by the peep of light A gentle calm did follow.
What need I then despair Though ills stand round about me; Since mischiefs neither dare To bark or bite without thee?
TO GOD.
Lord, I am like to mistletoe, Which has no root, and cannot grow Or prosper, but by that same tree It clings about: so I by thee.
What need I then to fear at all So long as I about thee crawl?
But if that tree should fall and die, Tumble shall heaven, and down will I.
Here are now a few chosen from many that--to borrow a term from Crashaw--might be called DIVINE EPIGRAMS.
God, when he's angry here with any one, His wrath is free from perturbation; And when we think his looks are sour and grim, The alteration is in us, not him.
* * * * * God can't be wrathful; but we may conclude Wrathful he may be by similitude: God's wrathful said to be when he doth do That without wrath, which wrath doth force us to.
* * * * * 'Tis hard to find God; but to comprehend Him as he is, is labour without end.
* * * * * God's rod doth watch while men do sleep, and then The rod doth sleep while vigilant are men.
* * * * * A man's trangression God does then remit, When man he makes a penitent for it.
* * * * * God, when he takes my goods and chattels hence, Gives me a portion, giving patience: What is in God is God: if so it be He patience gives, he gives himself to me.
* * * * * Humble we must be, if to heaven we go; High is the roof there, but the gate is low.
* * * * * God who's in heaven, will hear from thence, If not to the sound, yet to the sense.
* * * * * The same who crowns the conqueror, will be A coadjutor in the agony.
* * * * * God is so potent, as his power can _that._ Draw out of bad a sovereign good to man.
* * * * * Paradise is, as from the learn'd I gather, A choir of blest souls circling in the Father.
* * * * * Heaven is not given for our good works here; Yet it is given to the labourer.
* * * * * One more for the sake of Martha, smiled at by so many because they are incapable either of her blame or her sister's praise.
The repetition of the name, made known No other than Christ's full affection.
And so farewell to the very lovable Robert Herrick.
Francis Quarles was born in 1592.

I have not much to say about him, popular as he was in his own day, for a large portion of his writing takes the shape of satire, which I consider only an active form of negation.

I doubt much if mere opposition to the false is of any benefit.
Convince a man by argument that the thing he has been taught is false, and you leave his house empty, swept, and garnished; but the expulsion of the falsehood is no protection against its re-entrance in another mask, with seven worse than itself in its company.

The right effort of the teacher is to give the positive--to present, as he may, the vision of reality, for the perception of which, and not for the discovery of falsehood, is man created.