TO THE NOBLEST AND BEST OF LADIES, THE COUNTESS OF DENBIGH,

PERSUADING HER TO RESOLUTION IN RELIGION, AND TO RENDER HERSELF WITHOUT FURTHER DELAY INTO THE COMMUNION OF THE CATHOLIC CHURCH.

[Non vi.

'Tis not the work of force but skill

To find the way into man's will. 'Tis love alone can hearts unlock;

Who knows the Word, he needs not knock.]

What Heaven-entreated heart is this,
Stands trembling at the gate of bliss?

Holds fast the door, yet dares not venture
Fairly to open it, and enter;

Whose definition is a doubt

'Twixt life and death, 'twixt in and out.
Say, ling'ring Fair! why comes the birth
Of your brave soul so slowly forth?
Plead your pretences (O you strong

In weakness!) why you choose so long
In labour of yourself to lie,

Nor daring quite to live nor die.
Ah! linger not, loved soul! a slow
And late consent was a long no;
Who grants at last, long time tried
And did his best to have denied:

What magic bolts, what mystic bars,

Maintain the will in these strange wars?

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What fatal yet fantastic bands

Keep the free heart from its own hands?
So when the year takes cold, we see
Poor waters their own prisoners be,
Fettered, and lock'd up fast they lie

In a sad self-captivity.

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The astonished Nymphs their flood's strange fate

deplore,

To see themselves their own severer shore.

Thou that alone canst thaw this cold,

And fetch the heart from its stronghold;
Almighty Love! end this long war,
And of a meteor make a star.、

O fix this fair Indefinite!

And 'mongst Thy shafts of sov-reign light
Choose out that sure decisive dart

Which has the key of this close heart,

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Knows all the corners of 't, and can control

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The self-shut cabinet of an unsearch'd soul.

O let it be at last, Love's hour;

Raise this tall trophy of Thy power;

Come once the conquering way; not to confute
But kill this rebel-word "irresolute,"

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That so, in spite of all this peevish strength

Of weakness, she may write "resolved" at length. Unfold at length, unfold fair flower,

And use the season of Love's shower!
Meet his well-meaning wounds, wise heart!
And haste to drink the wholesome dart.
That healing shaft, which Heaven till now
Hath in love's quiver hid for you.

O dart of Love! arrow of light!

O happy you, if it hit right!

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It must not fall in vain, it must
Not mark the dry regardless dust.
Fair one, it is your fate; and brings
Eternal words upon its wings.

Meet it with wide-spread arms, and see
Its seat your soul's just centre be.
Disband dull fears, give faith the day;
To save your life, kill your delay.
It is Love's siege, and sure to be
Your triumph, though His victory.
'Tis cowardice that keeps this field,
And want of courage not to yield.
Yield then, O yield, that Love may win
The fort at last, and let life in.
Yield quickly, lest perhaps you prove
Death's prey, before the prize of Love.

This fort of your fair self, if't be not won,
He is repulsed indeed, but you're undone.

TO THE NAME ABOVE EVERY NAME,
THE NAME OF JESUS

A HYMN

I sing the Name which none can say
But touched with interior ray:

The name of our new peace: our good:
Our bliss: and supernatural blood:

The name of all our lives and loves.
Hearken, and help, ye holy doves!
The high-born brood of Day; you bright
Candidates of blissful light,

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The heirs elect of Love, whose names belong
Unto the everlasting life of song;

All ye wise souls, who in the wealthy breast
Of this unbounded name, build your warm nest.
Awake, my glory, Soul (if such thou be,
And that fair word at all refer to thee),
Awake and sing,

And be all wing;

Bring hither thy whole self; and let me see

What of thy parent Heaven yet speaks in thee.
O thou art poor

Of noble powers, I see,

And full of nothing else but empty me:
Narrow, and low, and infinitely less

Than this great morning's mighty business.
One little world or two

(Alas!) will never do;

We must have store.

Go, Soul, out of thyself, and seek for more.

Go and request

Great Nature for the key of her huge chest

Of Heavens, the self-involving set of spheres
(Which dull mortality more feels than hears).
Then rouse the nest

Of nimble Art, and traverse round

The airy shop of soul-appeasing sound:

And beat a summons in the same

All-sovereign name,

To warn each several kind

And shape of sweetness, be they such

As sigh with supple wind

Or answer artful touch;

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That they convene and come away

To wait at the love-crowned doors of this illustrious

day.

Shall we dare this, my Soul? we'll do't and bring
No other note for 't, but the name we sing.
Wake lute and harp, and every sweet-lipped thing 45
That talks with tuneful string;

Start into life and leap with me

Into a hasty fit-tuned harmony.

Nor must you think it much
T'obey my bolder touch:

I have authority in Love's name to take

you,

And to the work of Love this morning wake you.

Wake, in the name

Of Him Who never sleeps, all things that are,

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Or, what's the same,

Are musical;

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Answer my call

And come along;

Help me to meditate mine immortal song.

Come, ye soft ministers of sweet sad mirth,

Bring all your household-stuff of Heaven on earth;
O you, my Soul's most certain wings,

Complaining pipes, and prattling strings,

Bring all the store

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Of sweets you have; and murmur that you have no

more.

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Come, ne'er to part,

Nature and Art!

Come; and come strong,

To the conspiracy of our spacious song.

Bring all the powers of praise,

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Your provinces of well-united worlds can raise;