O sweet contest! of woes

With loves; of tears with smiles disputing!

O fair and friendly foes,

Each other kissing and confuting!

While rain and sunshine, cheeks and eyes,

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Close in kind contrarieties.

XVII

But can these fair Floods be

Friends with the bosom-fires that fill thee?

Can so great flames agree

Eternal tears should thus distil thee?

O floods! O fires! O suns! O showers!

Mixed and made friends by Love's sweet powers.

XVIII

'Twas his well-pointed dart

That digged these wells, and dressed this wine;

And taught the wounded heart

The way into these weeping eyne.

Vain loves avaunt! bold hands forbear!

The Lamb hath dipped His white foot here.

XIX

And now where'er He strays,

Among the Galilean mountains,

Or more unwelcome ways;

He's followed by two faithful fountains; Two walking baths, two weeping motions,

Portable, and compendious oceans.

XX

O thou, thy Lord's fair store! In thy so rich and rare expenses, Even when He showed most poor

He might provoke the wealth of princes.

What Prince's wanton'st pride e'er could
Wash with silver, wipe with gold?

XXI

Who is that King, but He

Who call'st His crown, to be called thine,

That thus can boast to be

Waited on by a wandering mine,

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What make you here? what hopes can 'tice

A HYMN TO THE NAME AND HONOR OF THE ADMIRABLE SAINT TERESA

Foundress of the Reformation of the Discalced Carmelites, both men and women; a woman for angelical height of speculation, for masculine courage of performance, more than a woman, who yet a child outran maturity, and durst plot a martyrdom.

Of those whose spacious bosoms spread a throne
For Love at large to fill; spare blood and sweat:
And see him take a private seat,

ΙΟ

Making his mansion in the mild

And milky soul of a soft child.

Scarce has she learnt to lisp the name
Of martyr; yet she thinks it shame

Life should so long play with that breath
Which spent can buy so brave a death.
She never undertook to know

What Death with Love should have to do;
Nor has she e'er yet understood

Why to show love, she should shed blood,
Yet though she cannot tell you why,
She can love, and she can die.

Scarce has she blood enough to make
A guilty sword blush for her sake;
Yet has she a heart dares hope to prove

How much less strong is Death than Love.

With Christ's name in't, in change for death:

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