4 BAXTER'S POEMS. To be man's end, is but to be most loved; And good 's the loadstone by which love is moved! What though to thee the creature nothing add, That proves thee perfect, neither weak nor bad ; And therefore fit to be the final cause, Which all hearts by attractive goodness draws : Love is the final and enjoying act; Closing with thee by thy magnetic tract : Not as it mourneth for the good we want; Nor as ~t after distant good doth pant ; · But partly as it reacheth its desires : And more, as it with pleasure thee admires. This love, besides its object, hath no end: It doth not to some higher virtue tend: But from a seed, grows up to higher stature Of divine complacence, which is its nature. All other grace is but the means to it : They draw the bow ; but love the mark doth hit. But sinners lost in self rise not above The lower region of their own self-love. Experience assures me that I can Love a most learned, wise, and holy man Unseen, my very heart is to him knit, Without respect to any benefit. Reason convip.ceth me that I should err, If the known best, my loYe should not prefer: Should I not rather choose myself alone To be annihilated, or undone, Than the whole world should bear the same distress, Or towns, or countries; seeing I am less? Or the Creator should take down the sun ? Destroy the earth, or rivers cease t~ rml ?.