The Temple of Death, Art of Poetry, Duel of the Stags, etc (1695)/My Fate
MY FATE.
By the same Author.
Raising my drooping Head, o'er charg'd with Thought,Having each Scene of Life before me brought;I chid my self because I durst repineAt Nature's Laws, or those that were Divine.Throughout the whole Creation 'tis the same,The Fuel is devoured by the Flame;Each peaceful, harmless, unoffending thingIs to the Offender made an Offering:Even God himself. Hold, my aspiring Thought;Descend, my Muse, thy flight too high is wrought;Tell not, how He, all peaceful, and all kind,Was offer'd for the vilest of Mankind;A Victim for the vilest was design'd. Descend, I say, my Muse; low things affordTheams high enough for thee: Touch not the Word,Till he hath touch'd thy Wings with Grace Divine,Then, only his, thou shalt the World decline.The harmless Dove the Falcon doth betray;The Lamb is to the Wolf become a Prey;And Men to whom free will Heaven doth impart,To follow still the Counsels of his Heart,If wrack'd with doubt; if harmless, he designsPeace to his Heart, and still his Wish confinesJustice to Peace, and Love to Quiet joyns.Why then the Dove-like Fate will sure be his;Short is his Life, unsettled is his Bliss:Hard Fate; that choice we eagerly pursue,Is, or to be undone, or to undo.
