Chapter 10 No.10

Ah! may no unkind earthquake of the state,

Nor hurricano from the crown,

Disturb the present mitre, as that fearful storm of late,

Which, in its dusky march along the plain,

Swept up whole churches as it list,

Wrapp'd in a whirlwind and a mist;

Like that prophetic tempest in the virgin reign,

And swallow'd them at last, or flung them down.

Such were the storms good Sancroft long has borne;

The mitre, which his sacred head has worn,

Was, like his Master's Crown, inwreath'd with thorn.

Death's sting is swallow'd up in victory at last,

The bitter cup is from him past:

Fortune in both extremes

Though blasts from contrariety of winds,

Yet to firm heavenly minds,

Is but one thing under two different names;

And even the sharpest eye that has the prospect seen,

Confesses ignorance to judge between;

And must to human reasoning opposite conclude,

To point out which is moderation, which is fortitude.