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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.
DUST and clay,
Man's antient wear,
Here you must stay,
Souls sojourn here, but may not rest;
And yet some,
Even in this life; but all such can
If a star
Should leave the sphære,
And after fall; for, in her dress
Man of old,
Within the line
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!
Made his cloathes be,
The Fuller, whose pure blood did flow,
To make stain'd man more white than snow.
And none else, can
Bring bone to bone,
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!
What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust,
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,
So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted
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
Resume thy spirit from this world of thrall
Either disperse these mists, which blot and fill
My perspective still as they pass;
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;