Respice Finem
My soul, sit thou a patient looker-on;
Judge not the play before the play is done:
Her plot hath many changes; every day
Speaks a new scene; the last act crowns the play.
More poems by Francis Quarles
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A Divine Rapture
E'en like two little bank-dividing brooks,
That wash the pebbles with their wanton streams,
And having ranged and search'd a thousand nooks, … -
A Mystical Ecstasy
E’en like two little bank-dividing brooks,
That wash the pebbles with their wanton streams,
And having ranged and searched a thousand nooks, … -
Delight in God
I Love, and have some cause to love, the earth,—
She is my Maker’s creature, therefore good;
She is my mother, for she gave me birth; … -
The Vanity of the World
False world, thou ly’st: thou canst not lend
The least delight:
Thy favors cannot gain a friend, …