Right Apprehension

Giv but to things their tru Esteem,
And those which now so vile & worthless seem
Will so much fill & pleas the Mind,
That we shall there the only Riches find.
How wise was I
In Infancy!
I then saw in the clearest Light;
But corrupt Custom is a second Night.

Custom; that must a Trophy be
When Wisdom shall compleat her Victory:
For Trades, Opinions, Errors, are
False Lights, but yet receiv'd to set off Ware
More false: We're fold
For worthless Gold.
Diana was a Goddess made
That Silver-Smiths might have the better Trade.

But giv to Things their tru Esteem,
And then what's magnify'd most vile will seem:
What commonly's despis'd, will be
The truest & the greatest Rarity.
What Men should prize
They all despise;
The best Enjoiments are abus'd;
The Only Wealth by Madmen is refus'd.

A Globe of Earth is better far
Than if it were a Globe of Gold: A Star
Much brighter than a precious Stone:
The Sun more Glorious than a Costly Throne;
His warming Beam,
A living Stream
Of liquid Pearl, that from a Spring
Waters the Earth, is a most precious thing.

What Newness once suggested to,
Now clearer Reason doth improv, my View:
By Novelty my Soul was taught
At first; but now Reality my Thought
Inspires: And I
Perspicuously
Each way instructed am; by Sense
Experience, Reason, & Intelligence.

A Globe of Gold must Barren be,
Untill'd & Useless: We should neither see
Trees, Flowers, Grass, or Corn
Such a Metalline Massy Globe adorn:
As Splendor blinds,
So Hardness binds;
No Fruitfulness it can produce;
A Golden World can't be of any Use.

Ah me! This World is more divine:
The Wisdom of a God in this doth shine.
What ails Mankind to be so cross?
The Useful Earth they count vile Dirt & Dross:
And neither prize
Its Qualities,
Nor Donor's Lov. I fain would know
How or why Men God's Goodness disallow.

The Earth's rare ductile Soil,
Which duly yields unto the Plow-man's Toil,
Its fertile Nature, givs Offence;
And its Improvment by the Influence
Of Hev'n; For, these
Do not well pleas,
Becaus they do upbraid Mens hardned Hearts,
And each of them an Evidence imparts

Against the Owner; whose Design
It is that Nothing be reputed fine,
Nor held for any Excellence,
Of which he hath not in himself the Sense.
He too well knows
That no Fruit grows
In him, Obdurat Wretch, who yields
Obedience to Hev'n, less than the Fields: