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HAPPY those early dayes, when I
Shin'd in my angell-infancy!
Before I understood this place
Appointed for my second race,
Or taught my soul to fancy ought
But a white, celestiall thought;
When yet I had not walkt above
A mile or two from my first love,
And looking back, at that short space;
Could see a glimpse of his bright face;
When on some gilded cloud or flowre
My gazing soul would dwell an houre,
And in those weaker glories spy
Some shadows of eternity;

Before I taught my tongue to wound
My conscience with a sinfull sound,
Or had the black art to dispence
A sev'rall sinne to ev'ry sence,
But felt through all this fleshly dresse
Bright shootes of everlastingnesse.
O how I long to travell back,
And tread again that ancient track!
That I might once more reach that plaine,
Where first I left my glorious traine;

From whence th' inlightned spirit sees

That shady city of palme-trees.

But ah! my soul with too much stay
Is drunk, and staggers in the way!
Some men a forward motion love,
But I by backward steps would move;
And when this dust falls to the urn,
In that state I came return.



COME, come! what doe I here?

Since he is gone

Each day is grown a dozen year,
And each houre one.
Come, come!

Cut off the sum

By these soil'd tears!

(Which only thou

Know'st to be true,)
Dayes are my feares.


There's not a wind can stir,
Or beam passe by,

But strait I think, though far,

Thy hand is nigh.

Come, come!

Strike these lips dumb:

This restless breath,
That soiles thy name,

Will ne'r be tame

Untill in death.


Perhaps some think a tombe
No house of store,

But a dark, seal'd up wombe,
Which ne'r breeds more.
Come, come!

Such thoughts benum.

But I would be

With him I weep

A-bed, and sleep

To wake in thee.



WHEN to my eyes,

Whilst deep sleep others catches,
Thine host of spyes,

The starres, shine in their watches,
I doe survey

Each busie ray,.

And how they work and wind,

And with each beame

My soul doth stream

With the like ardour shin'd.

What emanations,

Quick vibrations,

And bright stirs are there!

What thin ejections,

Cold affections,

And slow motions here!


Thy heav'ns, some say,

Are a firie-liquid light,

Which mingling aye

Streames and flames thus to the sight.

Come then, my God!

Shine on this bloud

And water in one beame;

And thou shalt see,

Kindled by thee,

Both liquors burne and streame.
O what bright quickness,

Active brightness,

And celestiall flowes,

Will follow after

On that water,
Which thy Spirit blowes!

Matt. iii. 11.

I indeed baptize you with water unto repentance; but he that commeth after me is mightier than I, whose shooes I am not worthy to beare; he shall baptize you with the Holy Ghost and with fire.



PEACE, peace! I know 'twas brave;

But this coarse fleece,

I shelter in, is slave

To no such peece.

When I am gone,

I shall no wardrobes leave

To friend or sonne,

But what their own homes weave.


Such, though not proud nor full,

May make them weep, And mourn to see the wooll

Outlast the sheep;

Poore, pious weare!

Hadst thou bin rich or fine,

Perhaps that teare

Had mourn'd thy losse, not mine.


Why then these curl'd, puffed points, Or a laced story?

Death sets all out of joint,

And scornes their glory.

Some love a rose

In hand, some in the skin;

But, crosse to those,

I would have mine within.

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