To Sweat

Belovéd sweat, the best of all the dews,
which, pouring from the crown to drench the face,
transports the weak man from his sullen place,
and acts as pure refreshment for his muse.
For just as floods from heaven seek (and find)
the waiting earth, the thirsty grass to drench,
so you full-soak the heart at lifting-bench,
and grow the crop of man’s voracious mind.
As soldiers say, your flow announces well
that weakness now is taking leave of me;
as rivers, burst from mountains, make the sea,
so you, improvement of the man, do tell.
At break of dawn, what joy it is to pour
this dew by toil, and bathe upon its shore.


Civis Cæli sum

O God, whose countenance has graced the Coin,
yet, bankrupt, our dull worship lies a-bed;
Thy Name our voices pledge, but lives purloin;
our loyalty and honor both have fled.
O Judge o’er sapphire Sky and em’rald Earth,
thy children, steeped in controversy’s lust,
abort the hope that comes of such high birth;
our diadems of virtue stain with rust.
How shall we overcome the pharisee
who swears by you in court, yet lives as dumb
to grace; whose vice is at its apogee?
How can we rise, thus deafened by this thrum?
Hear, Citizen of Heav’n: whose heart is best
will rule the Self; and so shall Man be blessed.