Of armed angels wait to entertain

Those purged souls, for which the Lamb was slain;
Whose guiltless death, and voluntary yielding

Of whose giv'n life, gave the brave court her building;
The lukewarm blood of this dear Lamb, being spilt,
To rubies turn'd, whereof her posts were built;
And what dropp'd down in a kind gelid gore,
Did turn rich sapphires, and did pave her floor:
The brighter flames, that from his eyeballs ray'd,
Grew chrysolites, whereof her walls were made:
The milder glances sparkled on the ground,
And groundsill'd ev'ry door with diamond;
But dying, darted upwards, and did fix
A battlement of purest sardonyx.

Her streets with burnish'd gold are paved round;
Stars lie like pebbles scatter'd on the ground;
Pearl mix'd with onyx, and the jasper stone,
Made gravell'd causeways to be trampled on.
There shines no sun by day, no moon by night;
The palace glory is, the palace light:
There is no time to measure motion by,
There time is swallow'd in eternity:
Wry-mouth'd disdain, and corner-hunting lust,
And twy-faced fraud, and beetle-brow'd distrust,
Soul-boiling rage, and trouble-state sedition,
And giddy doubt, and goggle-eyed suspicion,
And lumpish sorrow, and degen'rous fear,
Are banish'd thence, and death's a stranger there:
But simple love, and sempiternal joys,

Whose sweetness never gluts, nor fulness cloys:
Where face to face our ravish'd eye shall see

17

30

40

Great ELOHIM, that glorious One in Three,

And Three in One, and seeing him shall bless him,
And blessing, love him, and in love possess him.

50

Here stay, my soul, and, ravish'd in relation,
The words being spent, spend now in contemplation.

Sweet Jesus, the Word of the Father, the brightness of paternal glory, whom angels delight to view, teach me to do thy will; that led by thy good Spirit, I may come to that blessed city, where day is eternal, where there is certain security, and secure eternity; and eternal peace, and peaceful happiness; and happy sweetness, and sweet pleasure; where thou, O GOD, with the Father and the Holy Spirit, livest and reignest world without end.-S. GREG. in Psal vii. Pœnitent.

There is light without darkness; joy without grief; desire without punishment; love without sadness; satiety without loathing; safety without fear; health without disease; and life without death.-Ibidem.

EPIG. 14.

My soul, pry not too nearly! the complexion

Of Sol's bright face is seen by the reflection:

But wouldst thou know what's Heav'n? I'll tell thee what : Think what thou canst not think, and Heav'n is that.

No. XV.

Illustration-One seated on the ground, Christ seeking to hurry her away to the mountain Roes seen in the distance.

Make haste, my beloved, and be thou like to a roe or to a young hart upon the mountains of spices.-CANTICLES viii. 14.

1 Go, gentle tyrant, go; thy flames do pierce

My soul too deep; thy flames are too, too fierce;
My marrow melts, my fainting spirits fry

In th' torrid zone of thy meridian eye:
Away, away, thy sweets are too perfuming:
Turn, turn thy face, thy fires are too consuming:
Haste hence, and let thy winged steps outgo
The frighted roebuck, and his flying roe.

2 But wilt thou leave me, then? O thou, that art
Life of my soul, soul of my dying heart,
Without the sweet aspect of whose fair eyes
My soul doth languish, and her solace dies,
Art thou so eas'ly woo'd? so apt to hear
The frantic language of my foolish fear?

Leave, leave me not, nor turn thy beauty from me;
Look, look upon me, though thine eyes o'ercome me.

30 how they wound! but how my wounds content me!
How sweetly these delightful pains torment me!
How am I tortured in excessive measure
Of pleasing cruelties! too cruel treasure!
Turn, turn away, remove thy scorching beams;
I languish with these bitter-sweet extremes:
Haste then, and let thy winged steps outgo
The flying roebuck, and his frighted roe.

4 Turn back, my dear; O let my ravish'd eye
Once more behold thy face before thou fly;
What, shall we part without a mutual kiss?
O who can leave so sweet a face as this?
Look full upon me; for my soul desires
To turn a holy martyr in those fires:

Oh leave me not, nor turn thy beauty from me;
Look, look upon me, though thy flames o'ercome me.

5 If thou becloud the sunshine of thine eye,
I freeze to death; and if it shine, I fry;
Which, like a fever, that my soul hath got,
Makes me to burn too cold, or freeze too hot:
Alas! I cannot bear so sweet a smart,
Nor canst thou be less glorious than thou art.
Haste then, and let thy winged steps outgo
The frighted roebuck and his flying roe.

6 But go not far beyond the reach of breath;
Too large a distance makes another death:
My youth is in her spring; autumnal vows
Will make me riper for so sweet a spouse;
When after-times have burnish'd my desire,
I'll shoot thee flames for flames, and fire for fire.

Oh leave me not, nor turn thy beauty from me;
Look, look upon me, though thy flames o'ercome me.

Fear not, O bride, nor despair; think not thyself contemned if thy Bridegroom withdraw his face a while: all things co-operate for the best; both from his absence, and his presence, thou gainest light he cometh to thee, and he goeth from thee: he cometh, to make thee consolate; he goeth, to make thee cautious, lest thy abundant consolation puff thee up: he cometh, that thy languishing soul may be comforted; he goeth, lest his familiarity should be contemned; and being absent, to be more desired; and being desired, to be more earnestly sought; and being long sought, to be more acceptably found.-Autor Scale Paradisi. Tom. ix. Aug. Cap. viii.

EPIG. 15.

My soul, sin's monster, whom with greater ease

Ten thousand-fold thy God could make than please,

What would'st thou have? Nor pleased with sun, nor shade?
Heav'n knows not what to make of what he made.

THE FAREWELL.

Illustration-One leaning over a book, two Angels holding a crown of life over his head.

Be thou faithful unto death, and I will give thee a crown of life.-Rev. ii. 10.

1 BE faithful; LORD, what's that?

Believe: 'Tis easy to believe; but what?

That he whom thy hard heart hath wounded,
And whom thy scorn hath spit upon,

Hath paid thy fine, and hath compounded
For these foul deeds thy hands have done:

Believe that he whose gentle palms

Thy needle-pointed sins have nail'd,
Hath borne thy slavish loads (of alms)

And made supply where thou hast fail'd:

Did ever mis'ry find so strange relief?

It is a love too strange for man's belief.

2 Believe that he, whose side

Thy crimes have pierced with their rebellions, died To save thy guilty soul from dying

Ten thousand horrid deaths, from whence There was no 'scape, there was no flying, But through his dearest blood's expense; Believe, this dying friend requires No other thanks for all his pain, But e'en the truth of weak desires, And, for his love, but love again: Did ever mis'ry find so true a friend? It is a love too vast to comprehend.

3 With floods of tears baptize

And drench these dry, these unregen'rate eyes;
LORD, whet my dull, my blunt belief,

Then

And break this fleshly rock in sunder,

That from this heart, this hell of grief,
May spring a heav'n of love and wonder:

Oh, if thy mercies will remove

And melt this lead from my belief,
My grief will then refine my love,
My love will then refresh my grief:

weep,

mine eyes, as he hath bled; vouchsafe To drop for ev'ry drop an epitaph.

4 But is the crown of glory
The wages of a lamentable story?