I see that morning in thy convert's* tears,
Fresh as the dew, which but this dawning wears.
I smell her spices; and her ointment yields
As rich a scent as the now-primros'd fields.
The day-star smiles, and light with the deceast
Now shines in all the chambers of the East.
What stirs, what posting intercourse and mirth
Of saints and angels glorifie the earth?
What sighs, what whispers, busie stops and stays,
Private and holy talk, fill all the ways ?
They pass as at the last great day, and run
In their white robes to see the risen Sun;
I see them, hear them, mar their haste, and move
Amongst them, with them, wing'd with faith and
Thy forty days more secret commerce here,
After thy death and funeral, so clear
And indisputable, shews to my sight
As the sun doth, which to those days gave light.
I walk the fields of Bethany, which shine
All now as fresh as Eden, and as fine.
Such was the bright world on the first seventh day,
Before man brought forth sin, and sin decay;
When like a virgin, clad in flowers and green,
The pure earth sat, and the fair woods had seen
No frost, but flourish'd in that youthful vest
With which their great Creator had them drest;
When heav'n above them shin'd like molten glass,
While all the planets did unclouded pass;
St. Mary Magdalene.