Miscellany poems by Tho. Heyrick ...

On a Robin-red-breast, that for many years built and dwelt in a Church.

I.

PRoud Man with high conceits doth swell, And wonders of's own Worth doth tell: Vainly believes, that he alone Hath any Notion of Religion. But they, blest Bird, that hear thy Songs, believe The Truest Devotion in thy Breast doth live. No Envy, Pride, or Discontent dwells there; No factious Interest, mean Designs, or Fear, Nor do Hypocrisy thy Actions wear.

II.

Angels are said their Prayers to Join With holy Men in Acts Divine: Thou mak'st the Chorus, when we pray, And when we praise, thou sing'st thy cheerfull Lay. To highest flights thy warm Devotion goes, Thou op'st the Morning, and the Day dost close. Thou by thy Carolls own'st a Deity, To th' Altar dost for Sanctuary fly, And wisest Men can only follow Thee.

III.

And if those Ancient Dreams be true, That Souls thrô many changes go; Some pious Mind, That wanted Rest, Came and took up thy Zealous flaming Breast.

We here below with mists and Errours deal, What Language Angels speak, there's none can tell; Nor know we, but those Airs, that pleas'd our Soul, That did in high Seraphick Numbers roul, Might be some Hallelujah, Thou had'st stole.