And turn love's soldiers, upon thee
To exercise their archery.

Oh, how oft shalt thou complain,
Of a sweet and subtile pain!
Of intolerable joys!

Of a death in which who dies,
Loves his death, and dies again,

And would for ever so be slain!

And lives and dies, and knows not why
To live, but that he still may die./

How kindly will thy gentle heart,
Kiss the sweetly killing dart:
And close in his embraces keep
Those delicious wounds that weep
Balsam, to heal themselves with thus;
When these thy deaths so numerous,
Shall all at once die into one,
And melt thy soul's sweet mansion:
Like a soft lump of incense, hasted
By too hot a fire, and wasted
Into perfuming clouds, so fast
Shalt thou exhale to Heaven at last,
In a dissolving sigh, and then,

O what? ask not the tongues of men!

Angels cannot tell; suffice,
Thyself shalt feel thine own full joys,
And hold them fast for ever there,
So soon as thou shalt first appear
The Moon of maiden stars; thy white
Mistress attended by such bright
Souls as thy shining self shall come,
And in her first ranks make thee room;

Where 'mongst her snowy family

Immortal welcomes wait on thee.

Oh, what delight when she shall stand,

And teach thy lips Heaven, with her hand,
On which thou now may'st to thy wishes
Heap up thy consecrated kisses.

What joy shall seize thy soul when she,
Bending her blessed eyes on thee,
Those second smiles of Heaven, shall dart
Her mild rays through thy melting heart:

Angels thy old friends there shall greet thee,
Glad at their own home now to meet thee.
All thy good works, which went before,
And waited for thee at the door,

Shall own thee there: and all in one
Weave a constellation

Of crowns, with which the King thy spouse,
Shall build up thy triumphant brows.

All thy old woes shall now smile on thee,
And thy pains set bright upon thee:
All thy sorrows here shall shine,

And thy suff'rings be divine.

Tears shall take comfort, and turn gems,

And wrongs repent to diadems.

Ev'n thy deaths shall live, and new

Dress the soul, which late they slew.

Thy wounds shall blush to such bright scars,
As keep account of the Lamb's wars.

Those rare works, where thou shalt leave writ
Love's noble history, with wit

127

140

150

Taught thee by none but him, while here
They feed our souls, shall clothe thine there.
Each heavenly word, by whose hid flame
Our hard hearts shall strike fire, the same
Shall flourish on thy brows, and be
Both fire to us, and flame to thee:
Whose light shall live bright, in thy face
By glory, in our hearts by grace.

Thou shalt look round about, and see
Thousands of crown'd souls throng to be
Themselves thy crown, sons of thy vows:
The virgin births with which thy spouse
Made fruitful thy fair soul; go now,
And with them all about thee, bow
To him, 'Put on,' he'll say, ' put on,
My rosy love, that thy rich zone,
Sparkling with the sacred flames,
Of thousand souls whose happy names
Heaven keeps upon thy score; thy bright
Life brought them first to kiss the light
That kindled them to stars.' And so
Thou with the Lamb thy Lord shalt go,
And, wheresoe'er he sets his white
Steps, walk with him those ways of light,
Which who in death would live to see,
Must learn in life to die like thee.

157

170

180

AN APOLOGY FOR THE PRECEDENT HYMN,

AS HAVING BEEN WRIT WHEN THE AUTHOR WAS YET A PROTESTANT.

THUS have I back again to thy bright name,
Fair sea of holy fires, transfused the flame
I took from reading thee; 'tis to thy wrong,
I know, that in my weak and worthless song
Thou here art set to shine, where thy full day
Scarce dawns. Oh, pardon if I dare to say
Thine own dear books are guilty, for from thence
I learn'd to know that love is eloquence:
That heavenly maxim gave me heart to try
If what to other tongues is tuned so high
Thy praise might not speak English too. Forbid
(By all thy mysteries that there lie hid)
Forbid it, mighty Love, let no fond hate
Of names and words so far prejudicate;
Souls are not Spaniards too; one friendly flood
Of baptism blends them all into one blood.
Christ's faith makes but one body of all souls,
And love's that body's soul; no law controls
Our free traffic for Heaven; we may maintain
Peace sure with piety, though it dwell in Spain.
What soul soe'er in any language can

Speak Heaven like hers, is my soul's countryman.
Oh, 'tis not Spanish, but 'tis Heaven she speaks;
"Tis Heaven that lies in ambush there, and breaks
From thence into the wond'ring reader's breast,
Who finds his warm heart hatch into a nest
Of little eagles and young loves, whose high
Flights scorn the lazy dust, and things that die.

There are enow whose draughts as deep as hell
Drink up
all Spain in sack, let my soul swell
With thee, strong wine of love! let others swim
In puddles, we will pledge this seraphim
Bowls full of richer blood than blush of grape
Was ever guilty of. Change we our shape,

My soul; some drink from men to beasts; oh, then
Drink we till we prove more, not less then men,
And turn not beasts, but angels. Let the king
Me ever into these his cellars bring,

Where flows such wine as we can have of none
But him who trode the wine-press all alone:
Wine of youth's life, and the sweet deaths of love,
Wine of immortal mixture, which can prove
Its tincture from the rosy nectar, wine
That can exalt weak earth, and so refine
Our dust, that, in one draught, mortality
May drink itself up, and forget to die.

29

40

ON A TREATISE OF CHARITY

RISE, then, immortal maid! Religion rise!

Put on thyself in thine own looks: t'our eyes

Be what thy beauties, not our blots, have made thee,

Such as (ere our dark sins to dust betray'd thee)
Heaven set thee down new dress'd; when thy bright birth
Shot thee like lightning to th' astonish'd earth.
From th' dawn of thy fair eyelids wipe away
Dull mists and melancholy clouds: take day
And thine own beams about thee: bring the best
Of whatsoe'r perfumed thy eastern nest.

10