A Song. LORD, when the sense of Thy sweet grace Sends up my soul to seek Thy face, O Love, I am thy sacrifice! SECOND PART. Though still I die, I live again; Still live in me this longing strife Prayer: AN ODE WHICH WAS PREFIXED TO A LITTLE PRAYERBOOK GIVEN TO A YOUNG GENTLEWOMAN. Lo here a little volume, but great book! (Fear it not, sweet, It is no hypocrite), Much larger in itself than in its look. A nest of new-born sweets; Whose native fires disdaining To lie thus folded, and complaining Of these ignoble sheets, Affect more comely bands (Fair one) from thy kind hands; And confidently look To find the rest Of a rich binding in your breast. It is, in one choice handful, Heaven; and all Ten thousand angels in one point can dwell. Which here contracts itself, and comes to lie Against the ghostly foes to take your part, It is an armoury of light; Let constant use but keep it bright, To holy hands and humble hearts, Than sin hath snares, or Hell hath darts. The hands be pure That hold these weapons; and the eyes Wakeful and wise: Here is a friend shall fight for you, That studies this high art, Must be a sure house-keeper: And yet no sleeper. Dear soul, be strong! Mercy will come ere long, And bring his bosom fraught with blessings, Flowers of never-fading graces, To make immortal dressings For worthy souls, whose wise embraces Shall find the loitering heart from home; To gad abroad Among the gay mates of the god of flies And keep the devil's holyday; ; To dance in th' sunshine of some smiling Sphere of sweet and sugar'd lies; Of false, perhaps as fair, Flattering but forswearing, eyes; Will get the start Meanwhile, and stepping in before, Words which are not heard with ears Home to the heart, and sets the house on fire And melts it down in sweet desire: Yet does not stay To ask the windows' leave to pass that way; Delicious deaths, soft exhalations Of soul; dear and divine annihilations ; A thousand unknown rites Of joys, and rarified delights; An hundred thousand goods, glories, and graces; And many a mystic thing, Which the divine embraces Of the dear Spouse of spirits, with them will bring; For which it is no shame That dull mortality must not know a name. Of all this store Of blessings, and ten thousand more (If when He come He find the heart from home) Doubtless He will unload Himself some otherwhere, And pour abroad His precious sweets On the fair soul whom first He meets. O fair! O fortunate! O rich! O dear! Whoe'er she be, Whose early love With winged vows, Makes haste to meet her morning Spouse, Happy indeed who never misses To improve that precious hour, |