on has given a beautiful setting to one stanza from the
eloquent ode "Sunday." "The Sunday before his death," his biographer tells
us, "he rose suddenly from his bed or couch, called for one of his
instruments, took it into his hand, and said:

"'My God, my God
My music shall find thee,
And every string
Shall have his attribute to sing.

And having tuned it, he played and sung:

"'The Sundays of man's life,
Threaded together on time's string,
Make bracelets to adorn the wife
Of the eternal glorious King.
On Sundays, heaven's door stands ope;
Blessings are plentiful and rife;
More plentiful than hope.'

"Thus he sung on earth such hymns and anthems as the angels and he, and
Mr. Farrer, now sing in heaven."

As we have fallen upon this personal, biographical vein, and as the best
key to a man's poetry is to know the man and what he may have encountered,
we may cite the poem entitled "The Pearl." It is compact of life and
experience: we see the courtier and the scholar ripening into the saint;
the world not forgotten or ignored, but its best pursuits calmly weighed,
fondly enumerated and left behind, as steps of the celestial ladder.

THE PEARL.

"I know the ways of learning; both the head
And pipes that feed the press, and make it run;
What reason hath from nature borrowed,
Or of itself, like a good housewife, spun
In laws and policy; what the stars conspire;
What willing nature speaks, what forc'd by fire;
Both th' old discoveries, and the new-found seas;
The stock and surplus, cause and history:
All these stand open, or I have the keys:
Yet I love thee.

"I know the ways of honor, what maintains
The quick returns of courtesy and wit:
In vies of favor whether party gains,
When glory swells the heart and mouldeth it
To all expressions both of hand and eye,
Which on the world a true-love knot may tie,
And bear the bundle, wheresoe'er it goes:
How many drams of spirits there must be
To sell my life unto my friends or foes:
Yet I love thee.

"I know the ways of pleasure, the sweet strains,
The lullings and the relishes of it;
The propositions of hot blood and brains;
What mirth and music mean; what love and wit
Have done these twenty hundred years, and more;
I know the projects of unbridled store:
My stuff i