What might, he would possess himself, and live
As dead (devoid of int'rest) t' all might give
Disease this well-composed mind, forestall'd
With heavenly riches, which had wholly call'd
His thoughts from earth, to live above in th' air,
A very bird of Paradise. No care
Had he of earthly trash.
What might suffice
To fit his soul to heavenly exercise
Sufficed him; and, may we guess his heart
By what his lips bring forth, his only part
Is God and godly thoughts. Leaves doubt to none
But that to whom one God is all, all's one.
What he might eat or wear he took no thought,
His needful food he rather found than sought.
He seeks no downs, no sheets, his bed's still made;
If he can find a chair or stool, he 's laid;
When day peeps in, he quits his restless rest,
And still, poor soul, before he's up he's drest.
Thus dying did he live, yet lived to die
In th' Virgin's lap, to whom he did apply
His virgin thoughts and words, and thence was styled
By foes, the chaplain of the Virgin mild,
While yet he lived without: his modesty
Imparted this to some, and they to me.
Live happy then, dear soul; enjoy thy rest
Eternally by pains thou purchasedst,
While Car must live in care, who was thy friend;
Nor cares he how he live, so in the end.
He may enjoy his dearest Lord and thee,
And sit and sing more skilful songs eternally.
TO THE NOBLEST AND BEST OF LADIES, THE COUNTESS OF DENBIGII,1
PERSUADING HER TO RESOLUTION IN RELIGION, AND TO RENDER HERSELF WITHOUT FURTHER DELAY INTO
THE COMMUNION OF THE CATHOLIC CHURCH.
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!
What fatal, what fantastic bands
Keep the free heart from its own hands!
So when the year takes cold, we see
Poor waters their own prisoners be,
Fetter'd, and lock'd up fast they lie
In a sad self-captivity;
Th' astonish'd Nymphs their floods' 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.
Oh, 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,
Knows all the corners of 't, and can control
The self-shut cab'net of an unsearch'd soul.
Oh, let it be at last love's hour;
Raise this tall trophy of thy power;
Come once the conq'ring way; not to confute
But kill this rebel-word, irresolute,
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
Has in love's quiver hid for you;
O dart of love! arrow of light!
O happy you, if it hit right;
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
It's 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, oh 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.
I SING the name which none can say
But touch'd with an 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,
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,
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-sov'reign name;
To warn each sev'ral kind
And shape of sweetness, be they such
As sigh with supple wind,
Or answer artful touch,
That they convene and come away
To wait at the love-crowned doors of that illustrious
|