And springs, like dissolv'd pearls, their streams did pour, Ne'er marr'd with floods, nor angered with a showre. With these fair thoughts I move in this fair place, All sad with tears, which, like warm summer rain, Thy blessed hands to bless those thou dost leave. Was thine own answer to the stubborn Jew. ASCENSION HYMN. DUST and clay, Man's antient wear, Here you must stay, But I elsewhere! Souls sojourn here, but may not rest; Who will ascend must be undrest. And yet some, That know to die Before death come, Walk to the skie Even in this life; but all such can Leave behinde them the old man. If a star Should leave the sphære, Her flaming wear, And after fall; for, in her dress Man of old, Of Eden, could Like the sun shine, All naked, innocent, and bright, And intimate with heav'n as light; But, since he That brightness soil'd, His garments be All dark and spoil'd, And here are left as nothing worth, Till the Refiner's fire breaks forth. Then comes he! Whose mighty light Made his cloathes be, Like heav'n, all bright; The Fuller, whose pure blood did flow, To make stain'd man more white than snow. Hee alone, And none else, can Bring bone to bone, And rebuild man; And, by his all-subduing might, Make clay ascend more quick than light. THEY ARE ALL GONE. THEY are all gone into the world of light, It glows and glitters in my cloudy brest, Or those faint beams in which this hill is drest I see them walking in an air of glory, My days, which are at best but dull and hoary, O holy hope and high humility! High as the heavens above! These are your walks, and you have shew'd them me To kindle my cold love. Dear, beauteous death; the jewel of the just! He that hath found some fledg'd bird's nest may know But what fair dell or grove he sings in now, And yet, as angels in some brighter dreams, And into glory peep. If a star were confin'd into a tomb, Her captive flames must needs burn there; But, when the hand that lockt her up gives room, She'll shine through all the sphære. O Father of eternal life, and all Created glories under thee! Resume thy spirit from this world of thrall Into true liberty. Either disperse these mists, which blot and fill My perspective still as they pass; Or else remove me hence unto that hill WHITE SUNDAY. WELLCOME, white day! a thousand suns, Though seen at once, were black to thee! For, after their light, darkness comes; But thine shines to eternity. Those flames, which on the apostles rush'd Can these new lights be like to those, Though then some boast that fire each day, And on Christ's coat pin all their shreds; Not sparing openly to say, His candle shines upon their heads; |