They somewhat hotly did pursue,
Knew that they had not all their due,

Nor ever quiet were:

But made my thirst with hungry, thirsty ground,
My heart a deep profound abyss,

And every joy and pleasure but a wound,
So long as I my Blessedness did miss.

O Happiness! A famine burns,
And all my life to anguish turns!

Where are the silent streams,

The living waters and the glorious beams,
The sweet reviving bowers,

The shady groves, the sweet and curious flow

ers,

The spring and trees, the Heavenly days,
The flow'ry meads, and glorious rays,

The gold and silver towers?

Alas! all these are poor and empty things!
Trees, waters, days and shining beams,

Fruits, flowers, bowers, shady groves and springs,
No joy will yield, no more than silent streams;
Those are but dead material toys,

And cannot make my Heavenly joys.

O Love! Ye Amities,

And friendships that appear above the skies!

Ye feasts and living pleasures!
Ye senses, honours and imperial treasures!
Ye bridal joys! ye high delights
That satisfy all appetites!

Ye sweet affections, and

Ye high respects! Whatever joys there be
In triumphs, whatsoever stand

In amicable sweet society,

Whatever pleasures are at His right hand,
Ye must before I am Divine,

In full propriety be mine.

This soaring, sacred thirst,

Ambassador of bliss, approached first,

Making a place in me

That made me apt to prize, and taste, and

see.

For not the objects, but the sense

Of things doth bliss to Souls dispense,
And make it, Lord, like Thee.

Sense, feeling, taste, complacency, and sight,
These are the true and real joys,

The living, flowing inward, melting, bright,
And Heavenly pleasures; all the rest are toys:
All which are founded in Desire,
As light in flame and heat in fire.

GOODNESS

The bliss of other men is my delight,
(When once my principles are right:)
And every Soul which mine doth see
A treasury.

The face of God is goodness unto all,
And while He thousands to His throne doth call,
While millions bathe in pleasures,
And do behold His treasures,
The joys of all

On mine do fall,

And even my infinity doth seem

A drop without them of a mean esteem.

The light which on ten thousand faces shines,
The beams which crown ten thousand vines
With Glory, and Delight, appear
As if they were

Reflected only from them all for me,
That I a greater beauty there might see.
Thus Stars do beautify

The azure canopy:

Gilded with rays

Ten thousand ways

They serve me, while the Sun that on them shines Adorns those stars and crowns those bleeding vines.

Where Goodness is within, the Soul doth reign. Goodness the only Sovereign!

Goodness delights alone to see

Felicity.

And while the Image of His goodness lives
In me, whatever He to any gives

Is my delight and ends

In me, in all my friends:
For goodness is

The spring of bliss,

And 'tis the end of all it gives away

And all it gives it ever doth enjoy.

His Goodness! Lord, it is His highest Glory!
The very Grace of all His story!
What other thing can me delight
But the blest sight

Of His Eternal Goodness? While His love,
His burning love the bliss of all doth prove,
While it beyond the ends

Of Heaven and Earth extends,
And multitudes

Above the skies,

His Glory, Love and Goodness in my sight
Is for my pleasure made more infinite.

The soft and swelling grapes that on their

vines

Receive the lively warmth that shines

Upon them, ripen there for me:

Or meat.

Or drink they be,

The stars salute my pleaséd sense

With a derived and borrowed influence:

But better vines do grow,

Far better wines do flow

Above, and while

The Sun doth smile

Upon the Lilies there, and all things warm;
Their pleasant odours do my spirit charm.

Their rich affections me like precious seas
Of nectar and ambrosia please.

Their eyes are stars, or more Divine
And brighter shine:

Their lips are soft and swelling grapes, their tongues
A Quire of blessed and harmonious songs.
Their bosoms fraught with love

Are Heavens all Heavens above;

And being Images of God they are
The highest joys His Goodness did prepare.

JOHN NORRIS

THE ASPIRATION

How long, great God, how long must I
Immur'd in this dark prison lie?

Where at the grates and avenues of sense,
My soul must watch to have intelligence.