Robert Aylett

1583 - 1655 / Rivenhall, Essex

From 'Peace With Her Faire Gardens'

O King of Peace ! grant me this inward peace,
'Tis that for which the spirit alwayes prays,
That peace which brings all graces sweet increase,
And now thou art to heau'n gone, with vs stays.
This peace hell, death, nor tyrant's rage, dismays.
Tis not peace as world to vs doth giue;
In comforts she transcends sunne's gentlest rays ;
By her when wee in life of grace haue thriue,
With her we euer shall in glory liue.

This is the peace which sets our hearts as sure
As Sion's mount, which no force can remoue
This peace it is which euer shall endure,
If rooted in our hearts by faith and loue.
This peace which first descends from heauen aboue,
And doth our troubled consciences still;
Which makes the members like the head to proue
This is the peace of God the which doth fill
Both heau'n and earth with peace, and all men with good will.

Now neuer let my soule enioy true peace,
If now she doth not more my heart delight
Then all the pleasures, glory, wealth, and ease,
Which heere mens mindes to vanity inuite.
God of all peace, which hast me giu'n a sight
Of this most rich inualewable treasure,
Grant I on peace may set my whole delight,
True peace, like loue, which hath no bounds nor measure
In this I ly downe safe, and take my rest and pleasure.
164 Total read