Lo, how the thirsty lands

Gasp for thy golden showers with long-stretch'd hands!

Lo, how the labouring earth,
That hopes to be

All heaven by thee,

Leaps at thy birth!

Th' attending world, to wait thy rise,

First turn'd to eyes,

And then, not knowing what to do,
Turn'd them to tears, and spent them, too.
Come, royal name! and pay th' expence
Of all this precious patience;

O, come away,

And kill the death of this delay!
O, see so many worlds of barren years
Melted and measured out in seas of tears!
O, see the weary lids of wakeful hope,
Love's eastern windows, all wide ope,
With curtains drawn,

To catch the day-break of thy dawn!
O, dawn, at last, long-look'd for day!
Take thine own wings and come away.
Lo, where aloft it comes! It comes, among
The conduct of adoring spirits, that throng,
Like diligent bees, and swarm about it.
O, they are wise,

And know what sweets are suck'd from out it!

It is the hive

By which they thrive,

Where all their hoard of honey lies.

Lo, where it comes, upon the snowy dove's

Soft back, and brings a bosom big with loves!
Welcome to our dark world, thou
Womb of day!

Unfold thy fair conceptions, and display
The birth of our bright joys.

O, thou compacted

Body of blessings: spirit of souls extracted!
O, dissipate thy spicy pow'rs,

Cloud of condensèd sweets, and break upon us
In balmy show'rs!

O, fill our senses, and take from us

All force of so profane a fallacy

To think aught sweet but that which smells of thee! Fair, flow'ry name, in none but thee,

And thy nectareal fragrancy,

Hourly there meets

An universal synod of all sweets;

By whom it is definèd thus

That no perfume

For ever shall presume

To pass for odoriferous,

But such alone whose sacred pedigree

Can prove itself some kin, sweet name, to thee.

Sweet name, in thy each syllable

A thousand blest Arabias dwell;
A thousand hills of frankincense,
Mountains of myrrh, and beds of spices,
And ten thousand paradises,

The soul that tastes thee takes from thence.
How many unknown worlds there are

Of comforts, which thou hast in keeping!

How many thousand mercies there

In Pity's soft lap lie a-sleeping!

Happy he who has the art

To awake them,

And to take them

Home, and lodge them in his heart.

O, that it were as it was wont to be!

When thy old friends of fire, all full of thee,

Fought against frowns with smiles; gave glorious chase To persecutions; and against the face

Of death and fiercest dangers durst, with brave

And sober pace, march on to meet a grave.

On their bold breasts about the world they bore thee, And to the teeth of hell stood up to teach thee;

In centre of their inmost souls they wore thee,

Where racks and torments strived in vain to reach thee. Little, alas! thought they

Who tore the fair breasts of thy friends,

Their fury but made way

For thee, and served them in thy glorious ends.
What did their weapons, but with wider pores
Enlarge thy flaming-breasted lovers,

More freely to transpire

That impatient fire,

The heart that hides thee hardly covers!

What did their weapons, but set wide the doors
For thee; fair purple doors, of Love's devising,
The ruby windows which enrich'd the east

Of thy so oft-repeated rising !

Each wound of theirs was thy new morning,

And re-enthroned thee in thy rosy nest,

With blush of thine own blood thy day adorning :

It was the wit of love o'erflow'd the bounds

Of wrath, and made the way through all these wounds. Welcome, dear, all-adorèd name !

For sure there is no knee

That knows not thee.

Or, if there be such sons of shame,
Alas! what will they do

When stubborn rocks shall bow,

And hills hang down their heav'n-saluting heads
To seek for humble beds

Of dust, where, in the bashful shades of night,
Next to their own low nothing they may lie,

And couch before the dazz'ling light of thy dread Majesty !
They that by Love's mild dictate now

Will not adore thee,

Shall then, with just confusion, bow
And break before thee.

IN THE GLORIOUS EPIPHANY OF OUR
LORD GOD.

A Hymn sung as by the Three Kings.

B

First King.

RIGHT babe, whose awful beauties

make

The morn incur a sweet mistake; 2nd. For whom th' officious heav'ns devise

To disinherit the sun's rise,

3rd. Delicately to displace

The day, and plant it fairer in Thy face;

1st. O, Thou born King of loves,

Cho. Look up, sweet babe, look up, and see

For love of Thee,

Thus far from home,

The East is come

To seek herself in Thy sweet eyes! 1st. We, who strangely went astray, Lost in a bright

Meridian night,

2nd. A darkness made of too much day,

3rd.

Beckon'd from far

By Thy fair star,

Lo, at last have found our way!

Cho. To Thee, thou day of night; thou East of West!
Lo, we at last have found the way

To Thee, the world's great universal East;
The general and indifferent day!

1st. All-circling point, all-cent'ring sphere,
The world's one, round, eternal year;
2nd. Whose full and all-unwrinkled face

Nor sinks nor swells with time or place; 3rd. But everywhere, and everywhile, Is one consistent solid smile;

1st.

2nd.

Not vex'd and tost

"Twixt spring and frost,

3rd. Nor by alternate shreds of light