There's nectar and ambrosia made,
There's musk and civet sweet,
There many a fair and dainty drug
Is trodden under feet.

There cinnamon, there sugar grows,
There nard and balm abound,
What tongue can tell or heart receive
The joys that there are found?

Quite through the streets with silver sound The flood of life doth flow,

Upon whose banks on every side

The wood of life doth grow.

There trees for evermore bear fruit,
And evermore do spring;
There evermore the angels sit,

And evermore do sing.

There David stands, with harp in hands

As master of the choir,

Ten thousand times that man were blest

That might this music hear.

Our Lady sings Magnificat

With tones surpassing sweet,

And all the virgins bear their part,

Sitting about her feet.

Te Deum doth Saint Ambrose sing,

Saint Austin doth the like;

Old Simeon and Zachary

Have not their songs to seek.

There Magdalene hath left her moan,
And cheerfully doth sing

With blessed Saints, whose harmony
In every street doth ring.

Hierusalem, my happy home!

Would God I were in thee!

Would God my woes were at an end,
Thy joys that I might see! Amen.

A. W.

THOUGH LATE, MY HEART

Though late, my heart, yet turn at last,
And shape thy course another way;
'Tis better lose thy labour past

Than follow on to sure decay:

What though thou long have stray'd awry? In hope of grace for mercy cry.

Though weight of sin doth press thee down And keep thee grov'ling on the ground;

Though black Despair, with angry frown, Thy wit and judgment quite confound;

Though time and wit have been misspent, Yet grace is left if thou repent.

Weep then, my heart, weep still and still,
Nay, melt to floods of flowing tears;
Send out such shrieks as heav'n may fill
And pierce thine angry Judge's ears,
And let thy soul, that harbours sin,
Bleed streams of blood to drown it in.

Then shall thine angry Judge's face
To cheerful looks itself apply;
Then shall thy soul be fill'd with grace,
And fear of death constrain'd to fly.

Even so, my God! oh when? how long?
I would, but Sin is too, too strong.

I strive to rise, Sin keeps me down;
I fly from Sin, Sin follows me.
My will doth reach at glory's crown,
Weak is my strength, it will not be.

See how my fainting soul doth pant;
Oh, let Thy strength supply my want.

THE HEART'S CHAMBERS

If I could shut the gate against my thoughts And keep out sorrow from this room within, Or memory could cancel all the notes

Of my misdeeds, and I unthink my sin: How free, how clear, how clean my soul should

lie

Discharged of such a loathsome company!

Or were there other rooms without my heart

That did not to my conscience join so near, Where I might lodge the thoughts of sin apart That I might not their clam'rous crying hear; What peace, what joy, what ease should I pos

sess,

Freed from their horrors that my soul oppress!

But, O my Saviour, Who my refuge art,

Let Thy dear mercies stand 'twixt them and me,

And be the wall to separate my heart,

So that I may at length repose me free; That peace, and joy, and rest may be within, And I remain divided from my sin.

A HEAVENLIE VISITOR

Yet if His Majesty our sovereign lord

Should of his own accord

Friendly himself invite,

And say "I'll be your guest to-morrow night," How should we stir ourselves, call and command All hands to work!

'Let no man idle stand.

"Set me fine Spanish tables in the hall, See they be fitted all;

Let there be room to eat,

And order taken that there want no meat.
See every sconce and candlestick made bright,
That without tapers they may give a light.

"Look to the presence: are the carpets spread, The dazie o'er the head,

The cushions in the chairs,

And all the candles lighted on the stairs?
Perfume the chambers, and in any case
Let each man give attendance in his place."

Thus if the king were coming would we do,
And 'twere good reason too;

For 'tis a duteous thing

To show all honour to an earthly king,