“Here shalt thou find a Royal Court Where flatt’ry holds no sway; And gentle is the royal eye, Here friendship comes to stay.
“Turn, turn unto the sweet greenwood, O happy One! and sing Praise with the birds and all good life, To Christ who is our King!”
_Who would true Valour see, Let him come hither; One here will constant be, Come Wind, come Weather. There’s no_ Discouragement, _Shall make him once_ Relent, _His first avow’d_ Intent, To be a Pilgrim.
_Who so beset him round, With dismal_ Storys, _Do but themselves confound; His Strength the_ more is. _No_ Lyon _can him fright, He’l with a_ Gyant _Fight, But he will have a right_, To be a Pilgrim.
Hobgoblin, _nor foul_ Fiend, _Can_ daunt _his Spirit: He knows, he_ at the end, Shall Life Inherit. _Then Fancies fly away, He’l fear not what men say_, He’l _labor Night and Day_, To be a Pilgrim.
_John Bunyan (from reprint of first edition)_
Sweet Peace, where dost thou dwell, I humbly crave? Let me once know. I sought thee in a secret cave, And asked if Peace were there. A hollow wind did seem to answer, “No! Go seek elsewhere.”
I did; and going did a Rainbow note: “Surely,” thought I, “This is the lace of Peace’s coat; I will search out the matter.” But while I looked the clouds immediately Did break and scatter.
Then went I to a garden, and did spy A gallant flower,-- The Crown-Imperial. “Sure,” said I, “Peace at the root must dwell.” But when I digged, I saw a worm devour What showed so well.
At length I met a rev’rend, good, old man; Whom, when for Peace I did demand, he thus began: “There was a Prince of old At Salem dwelt, Who lived with good increase Of flock and fold.
“He sweetly lived; yet sweetness did not save His life from foes. But after death, out of His grave There sprang twelve stalks of Wheat; Which many wondering at got some of those To plant and set.
“It prospered strangely, and did soon disperse Through all the Earth; For they that taste it do rehearse That virtue lies therein,-- A secret virtue, bringing Peace and Mirth By flight of Sin.
“Take of this grain, which in my garden grows, And grows for you: Make bread of it; and that repose And Peace, which ev’ry where With so much earnestness you do pursue, Is only there.”