Here is the latter half of a poem called _St.Peters Remorse_: Did mercy spin the thread To weave injustice' loom?
Wert then a father to conclude With dreadful judge's doom?
It is a small relief To say I was thy child, If, as an ill-deserving foe, From grace I am exiled.
I was, I had, I could-- All words importing want; They are but dust of dead supplies, Where needful helps are scant.
Once to have been in bliss That hardly can return, Doth but bewray from whence I fell, And wherefore now I mourn.
All thoughts of passed hopes Increase my present cross; Like ruins of decayed joys, They still upbraid my loss.
O mild and mighty Lord! Amend that is amiss; My sin my sore, thy love my salve, Thy cure my comfort is.
Confirm thy former deed; Reform that is defiled; I was, I am, I will remain Thy charge, thy choice, thy child.
Here are some neat stanzas from a poem he calls CONTENT AND RICH.
My conscience is my crown, Contented thoughts my rest; My heart is happy in itself, My bliss is in my breast.
My wishes are but few, All easy to fulfil; I make the limits of my power The bounds unto my will.
Sith sails of largest size The storm doth soonest tear, I bear so small and low a sail As freeth me from fear.
And taught with often proof, A tempered calm I find To be most solace to itself, Best cure for angry mind.
No chance of Fortune's calms Can cast my comforts down; When Fortune smiles I smile to think How quickly she will frown.
And when in froward mood She proves an angry foe: Small gain I found to let her come, Less loss to let her go.
There is just one stanza in a poem of Daniel, who belongs by birth to this group, which I should like to print by itself, if it were only for the love Coleridge had to the last two lines of it.

It needs little stretch of scheme to let it show itself amongst religious poems.

It occurs in a fine epistle to the Countess of Cumberland.

Daniel's writing is full of the practical wisdom of the inner life, and the stanza which I quote has a certain Wordsworthian flavour about it.

It will not make a complete sentence, but must yet stand by itself: Knowing the heart of man is set to be The centre of this world, about the which These revolutions of disturbances Still roll; where all th' aspects of misery Predominate; whose strong effects are such As he must bear, being powerless to redress; And that unless above himself he can Erect himself, how poor a thing is man! Later in the decade, comes Sir Henry Wotton.