All their eternal day in songs employing;

Joy is their end, without end of their joying:
While their Almighty Prince destruction is destroying.

Full, yet without satiety, of that

Which whets and quiets greedy appetite;
Where never sun arose, nor ever sat;
But one eternal day, and endless light,
Gives time to those whose time is infinite.
Speaking with thought, obtaining without fee;
Beholding him whom never eye could see;
And magnifying him who cannot greater be.

For things that pass are pass'd; and in this field,
The spring indefinite, no winter fears;

The trees together fruit and blossom yield;
Th' unfading lily leaves of silver bears;
The crimson rose a scarlet garment wears:

About the holy city rolls a flood

Of molten chrystal, like a sea of glass;
On which bright stream a strong foundation stood,
Of living diamonds the building was,

That all things else it wholly did surpass:

Her streets, the stars instead of stones did pave,
And little pearls for dust it seems to have,

On which soft streaming manna like pure snow did

wave.

In midst of this city celestial,

Where the eternal temple should have rose,
Lighten'd th' idea beatifical,

End and beginning of each thing that grows,
Whose self no end nor yet beginning knows;

That hath no eyes to see, nor ears to hear,
Yet sees and hears, and is all eye and ear,

That no where is contain'd, and yet is every where.

Changer of all things, yet immutable;

Before and after all, yet first and last; Who moving all, is yet immoveable;

Great without quantity: in whose forecast

Things past are present, things to come are past; Swift without motion;-unto whose broad eye

The hearts of wicked men all open

lie;

At once absent and present to them, far and nigh.

It is no flaming lustre, made of light;

No sweet content; or well-turned harmony; Ambrosia for to feast the appetite;

Or flowery odour, mixed with spicery; No soft embrace, nor pleasures bodily; And yet it is a kind of inward feast;

.

A harmony that sounds within the breast,
An odour, light, embrace in which the soul doth rést.

A heav'nly feast, no hunger can consume;

A light unseen, yet shines in every place; A sound no time can steal; a sweet perfume No winds can scatter; an entire embrace That no satiety can e'er debase:

Receiv'd into so high a favour, there

The saints, with their compeers, whole worlds outwear; And things unseen do see, and things unheard do hear.

Ah foolish shepherds! who were wont t'esteem,
Your God all rough and shaggy hair'd to be;
And yet far wiser shepherds than ye deem,
For who so poor, though who so rich as he!

When sojourning with us in low degree, He wash'd his flock in Jordan's spotless tide; And that his dear remembrance might abide, Did to us come, and with us liv'd, and for us died !

But now such lively colours did embeam

His sparkling forehead, and such shining rays
Kindled his flaming locks, that down did stream
In curls along his neck, where sweetly plays,→
Singing his wounds of love in sacred lays,—
His dearest Spouse, Spouse of the dearest lover,
Knitting a thousand knots over and over,
And dying still for love, but they her still recover.

Fairest of fairs, that at his eyes doth dress

Her glorious face; those eyes from whence are shed Attractions infinite; where to express

His love, high God all heav'n as captive leads
And all the banners of his grace dispreads;

And in those windows doth his arms englaze,

And on those eyes the angels all do gaze,

And from those eyes, the lights of heav'n obtain their blaze.

But let the Kentish lad that lately taught
His oaten reed the trumpet's silver sound,
Young Thyrsilis;-and for his music brought
The willing spheres from heaven to lead around
The dancing nymphs and swains, that sung and
crown'd

Eclectas

*

hymen with ten thousand flow'rs

Of choicest praise; and hung her heavenly bow'rs With saffron garlands, dress'd for nuptial paramours :

* The human soul.

Let his shrill trumpet with its silver blast,
Of fair Eclecta, and her spousal bed,
Be the sweet pipe and smooth encomiast:—
But my green muse, hiding her younger head,
Under old Camus' flaggy banks, that spread
Their willow locks abroad, and all the day
With their own wat❜ry shadows wanton play;
Dares not these high amours, and love-sick songs assay.

Impotent words; weak lines; that strive in vain,
In vain alas! to tell so heavenly sight!

So heavenly sight, as none can greater feign,
Feign what he can, that seems of greatest might!
Could any yet compare with infinite?

Infinite sure those joys!-my words but light:

Light as the palace where he dwells,-O then how bright!

END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.

BRITISH

Printed by G. Wood, High Street, Canterbury,