| |
| HERE may the hand that now in triumph shines, | |
| And that (before they were invested thus) | |
| In earthly bodies carried heavenly mindes, | |
| Pitcht round about, in order glorious, | |
| Their sunny tents and houses luminous, | 5 |
| All their eternall day in songs employing, | |
| Joying their end, without end of their joying, | |
| While their Almighty Prince Destruction is destroying. | |
| |
| Full, yet without satietie, of that | |
| Which whets and quiets greedy appetite, | 10 |
| Where never sunne did rise, nor ever sat; | |
| But one eternall day and endlesse light | |
| Gives time to those whose time is infinite— | |
| Speaking with thought, obtaining without fee, | |
| Beholding him whom never eye could see, | 15 |
| And magnifying him that cannot greater be. | |
| |
| How can such joy as this want words to speak? | |
| And yet what words can speak such joy as this? | |
| Farre from the world, that might their quiet break, | |
| Here the glad souls the face of beautie kisse, | 20 |
| Pour’d out in pleasure, on their beds of blisse; | |
| And drunk with nectar torrents, ever hold | |
| Their eyes on him, whose graces manifold | |
| The more they do behold, the more they would behold. | |
| |
| Their sight drinks lovely fires in at their eyes, | 25 |
| Their brain sweet incense with fine breath accloyes, | |
| That on God’s sweating altar burning lies; | |
| Their hungrie eares feed on their heav’nly noise, | |
| That Angels sing, to tell their untold ioyes; | |
| Their understanding naked truth, their wills | 30 |
| The all and self-sufficient goodnesse fills, | |
| That nothing here is wanting but the want of ills. | |
| |
| No sorrow now hangs clouding on their brow, | |
| No bloudles maladie empales their face, | |
| No age drops on their hairs his silver snow, | 35 |
| No nakednesse their bodies doth embase, | |
| No poverty themselves and theirs disgrace, | |
| No fear of death the joy of life deuours, | |
| No vnchaste sleep their precious time deflowres; | |
| No losse, no grief, no change wait on their winged hours. | 40 |
| |
| But now their naked bodies scorn the cold, | |
| And from their eyes joy looks, and laughs at pain; | |
| The infant wonders how he came so old, | |
| And old man how he came so young again; | |
| Still resting, though from sleep they still refrain: | 45 |
| Where all are rich, and yet no gold they ow, | |
| And all are kings, and yet no subjects know, | |
| All full, and yet no time on food they do bestow. | |
| |
| For things that passe are past, and in this field | |
| The indeficient spring no winter fears; | 50 |
| The trees together fruit and blossome yield, | |
| The unfading lily leaves of silver beares; | |
| And crimson rose a scarlet garland weares: | |
| And all of these on the saints’ bodies grow, | |
| Not, as they wont, on baser earth below: | 55 |
| Three rivers here, of milk, and wine, and honey, flow. | |
| |
| About the holy citie rowles a flood | |
| Of moulten cry stall like a sea of glasse, | |
| On which weak stream a strong foundation stood: | |
| Of living diamonds the building was, | 60 |
| That all things els, besides itself, did passe, | |
| Her streets, instead of stones, the starres did pave, | |
| And little pearles for dust it seem’d to have, | |
| On which soft streaming manna, like pure snow, did wave. | |
| |
| In midst of this citie celestiall, | 65 |
| Where the eternal temple should have rose, | |
| Lightned th’ Idea Beatificall— | |
| End and beginning of each thing that grows; | |
| Whose self no end nor yet beginning knows, | |
| That hath no eyes to see, nor eares to heare, | 70 |
| Yet sees and heares, and is all eye, all eare; | |
| That nowhere is contain’d, and yet is everywhere: | |
| |
| Changer of all things, yet immutable; | |
| Before and after all, the first and last; | |
| That, moving all, is yet immoveable; | 75 |
| Great without quantitie, in whose forecast | |
| Things past are present, things to come are past; | |
| Swift without motion, to whose open eye | |
| The hearts of wicked men unbrested lie; | |
| At once absent and present to them, farre and nigh. | 80 |
| |
| It is no flaming lustre, made of light; | |
| No sweet consent, or well-tim’d harmonie; | |
| Ambrosia for to feast the appetite, | |
| Or flowerie odour, mix’d with spicerie, | |
| No soft embrace, or pleasure bodily; | 85 |
| And yet it is a kinde of inward feast, | |
| A harmony that sounds within the breast, | |
| An odour, light, embrace, in which the soul doth rest. | |
| |
| A heav’nly feast, no hunger can consume; | |
| A light unseen, yet shines in every place; | 90 |
| A sound no time can steal; a sweet perfume | |
| No windes can scatter; an intire embrace | |
| That no satietie can ere unlace: | |
| Ingrac’t into so high a favour, there | |
| The saints with their beawpeers whole worlds outweare, | 95 |
| And things unseen do see, and things unheard do heare. | |
| |
| Ye blessed souls, grown richer by your spoil, | |
| Whose losse though great, is cause of greater gains, | |
| Here may your weary spirits rest from toil, | |
| Spending your endlesse ev’ning that remains | 100 |
| Among those white flocks and celestiall trains, | |
| That feed upon their Shepheard’s eyes, and frame | |
| That heavenly musick of so wondrous fame, | |
| Psalming aloud the holy honours of his name! | |
| |
| Had I a voice of steel to tune my song, | 105 |
| Were every verse as smoothly fil’d as glasse, | |
| And every member turned to a tongue, | |
| And every tongue were made of sounding brasse; | |
| Yet all that skill, and all this strength, alas! | |
| Should it presume to gild, were misadvis’d | 110 |
| The place, where David hath new songs devis’d | |
| As in his burning throne he sits emparadis’d, | |
| |
| Most happie Prince, whose eyes those starres behold, | |
| Treading ours under feet! now maist thou poure | |
| That overflowing skill, wherewith of old | 115 |
| Thou wont’st to combe rough speech; now maist thou showre | |
| Fresh streams of praise vpon that holy bowre, | |
| Which well we heaven call: not that it rowls, | |
| But that it is the haven of our souls— | |
| Most happie Prince, whose sight so heavenly sight beholds! | 120 |
| |
| Ah, foolish shepheards, that were wont to esteem | |
| Your God all rough and shaggy-hair’d to be! | |
| And yet farre wiser shepheards then ye seem; | |
| For who so poore (though who so rich) as he | |
| When, with us hermiting in low degree, | 125 |
| He wash’t his flocks in Jordan’s spotlesse tide, | |
| And, that his deare remembrance aye might bide, | |
| Did to us come, and with us liv’d, and for us died? | |
| |
| But now so lively colours did embeam | |
| His sparkling forehead, and so shiny rayes | 130 |
| Kindled his flaming locks, that down did stream | |
| In curles along his neck, where sweetly playes | |
| (Singing his wounds of love in sacred layes) | |
| His dearest Spouse, 1 spouse of the dearest Lover, | |
| Knitting a thousand knots over and over, | 135 |
| And dying still for love; but they her still recover. | |
| |
| Fair Egliset, that at his eyes doth dresse | |
| Her glorious face, those eyes from whence are shed | |
| Infinite belamours; where, to expresse | |
| His love, high God all heav’n as captive leads, | 140 |
| And all the banners of his grace dispreads, | |
| And in those windows doth his arms englaze, | |
| And on those eyes the angels all do gaze, | |
| And from those eyes the lights of heav’n do glean their blaze. | |
