The Temple

HEN God at first made man*

Having a glasse of blessings standing by; Let us (said he) poure on him all we can: Let the worlds riches, which dispersed lie, Contract into a span.

So strength first made a way; Then beautie flow'd, then wisdome, honour^ pleasure:

When almost all was out, God made a stay, Perceiving that alone of all his treasure Rest in the bottome lay.

For if I should (said he) Bestow this jewell also on my creature, He would adore my gifts in stead of me, And rest in Nature, not the God of Nature.

So both should losers be.

Yet let him keep the rest. But keep them with repining restlesnesse: Let him be rich and wearie, that at least, If goodnesse leade him not, yet wearinesse

May tosse him to my breast.

r> LEST Order, which in power dost so excell, That with th' one hand thou liftest to the ^ sky.

And with the other throwest down to hell In thy just censures; fain would I draw nigh, Fain put thee on, exchanging my lay-sword For that of th' holy word.^

But thou art fire, sacred and hallow' d fire; And I but earth and clay: should I presume To wear thy habit, the severe attire My slender compositions might consume. I am both foul and brittle; much unfit To deal in holy Writ.

Yet have I often seen, by cunning hand And force of fire, what curious things are made Of wretched eartho Where once I scorn' d to stand.

That earth is fitted by the fire and trade Of skilfull artists, for the boards of those

Who make the bravest shows.

But since those great ones, be they ne're so great. Come from the earth, from whence those vessels come;

So that at once both feeder, dish, and meat Have one beginning and one finall summe: I do not greatly wonder at the sight,

If earth in earth delight.

But th' holy men of God such vessels are. As serve him up, who all the world commands: When God vouchsafeth to become our fare. Their hands conuey him, who conveys their hands.

O what pure things, most pure must those things be.

Wherefore I dare not, I, put forth my hand To hold the Ark, although it seem to shake ^ Through th' old sinnes and new doctrines of our land.

Onely, since God doth often vessels make Of lowly matter for high uses meet,

There will I lie, untill my Maker seek For some mean stuffe whereon to show his skill: Then is my time. The distance of the meek Doth flatter power. Lest good come short of ill In praising might, the poore do by submission What pride by opposition.

My searches are my daily bread;

My knees pierce th' earth, mine eies the skie;

And yet the sphere And centre both to me denie

Yet can I mark how herbs below

As if to meet thee they did know. While I decay.

Yet can I mark how starres above

As having keyes unto thy love.

I sent a sigh to seek thee out.

Deep drawn in pain, WingM like an arrow: but my scout

Because the search was dumbe before: But all was one.

Lord, dost thou some new fabrick mold

And keeps thee present, leaving th' old Unto their sinnes?

Where is my God? what hidden place Conceals thee still?

What covert dare eclipse thy face?

O let not that of any thing;

Let rather brasse, Or steel, or mountains be thy ring.

Thy will such an intrenching is,

To it all strength, all subtilties

Thy will such a strange distance is.

As that to it East and West touch, the poles do kisse,

Since then my grief must be as large, As is thy space,

Thy distance from me; see my charge. Lord, see my case.

O take these barres, these lengths away;

Turn, and restore me: Be not Almightie, let me say,

When thou dost turn, and wilt be neare;

What edge so keen, What point so piercing can appeare

For as thy absence doth excell

So doth thy nearenesse bear the bell,^ Making two one.

WHO will give me tears? Come all ye springs.

Dwell in my head and eyes: ^ come clouds, and rain:

My grief hath need of all the watry things, That nature hath produc'd. Let ev'ry vein Suck up a river to supply mine eyes. My weary weeping eyes too drie for me, Unlesse they get new conduits, new supplies To bear them out, and with my state agree. What are two shallow foords, two little spouts Of a lesse world? the greater is but small,

A narrow cupboard for my griefs and doubts, Which want provision in the midst of all. Verses, ye are too fine a thing, too wise For my rough sorrows: cease, be dumbe and mute.

Give up your feet and running to mine eyes, And keep your measures for some lovers lute, Whose grief allows him musick and a ryme: For mine excludes both measure, tune, and time.

WHAT is this strange and uncouth thing?

To make me sigh, and seek, and faint, and die, Untill I had some place, where I might sing.

And serve thee; and not onely I, But all my wealth, and familie might combine To set thy honour up, as our designe.

And then when after much delay. Much wrastling, many a combate, this deare end. So much desir'd, is giv'n, to take away

My power to serve thee; to unbend All my abilities, my designes confound. And lay my threatnings bleeding on the ground.

One ague dwelleth in my bones, Another in my soul (the memorie What I would do for thee, if once my grones

Could be allow' d for harmonie).

I am in all a weak disabled thing, Save in the sight thereof, where strength doth sting.

Besides, things sort not to my will, Ev'n when my will doth studie thy renown: Thou turnest th' edge of all things on me still,

Taking me up to throw me down: So that, ev'n when my hopes seem to be sped, I am to grief alive, to them as dead.

To have my aim, and yet to be Farther from it then when I bent my bow; To make my hopes my torture, and the fee

Of all my woes another wo, Is in the midst of delicates to need. And ev'n in Paradise to be a weed.

Ah my deare Father, ease my smart! These contrarieties crush me: these crosse actions

Doe winde a rope about, and cut my heart: And yet since these thy contradictions Are properly a crosse felt by thy sonne. With but foure words, my words, 7")6y rLvill he done,

TJOW fresh, O Lord, how sweet and ^ ^ clean

Are thy returns! ev'n as the flowers in spring;

To which, besides their own demean. The late-past frosts tributes of pleasure bring.

Grief melts away- Like snow in May, As if there were no such cold thing.

Who would have thought my shriveFd heart

Could have recover'd greennesse? It was gone

Quite under ground; as flowers depart To see their mother- root, when they have blown;

Where they together All the hard weather, Dead to the world, keep house unknown.

These are thy wonders. Lord of power. Killing and quickning, bringing down to hell

And up to heaven in an houre; Making a chiming^ of a passing-bell.

We say amisse, This or that is: Thy word is all, if we could spell.

O that I once past changing were. Fast in thy Paradise, where no flower can wither!

Many a spring I shoot up fair. Offering at heav'n, growing and groning thither: Nor doth my flower Want a spring-showre,

My sinnes and I joining together:

But while I grow in a straight line. Still upwards bent, as if heav'n were mine own,

Thy anger comes, and I decline: What frost to that? what pole is not the zone. Where all things burn. When thou dost turn, And the least frown of thine is shown?

And now in age I bud again, After so many deaths I live and write;

I once more smell the dew and rain. And relish versing: O my onely light, It cannot be That I am he On whom thy tempests fell all night.

These are thy wonders. Lord of love, To make us see we are but flowers that glide:

Which when we once can finde and prove. Thou hast a garden for us, where to bide.

Who would be more. Swelling through store. Forfeit their Paradise by their pride.

Foolish night-fires, womens and childrens wishes. Chases in Arras, guilded emptinesse. Shadows well mounted, dreams in a career, Embroidered lyes, nothing between two dishes;

These are the pleasures here.

True earnest sorrows, rooted miseries, Anguish in grain, vexations ripe and blown, Sure-footed griefs, solid calamities, Plain demonstrations, evident and cleare. Fetching their proofs ev'n from the very bone;

These are the sorrows here.

But oh the folly of distracted men. Who griefs in earnest, joyes in jest pursue; Preferring, like brute beasts, a lothsome den Before a court, ev'n that above so cleare. Where are no sorrows, but delights more true.

T ET forrain nations of their language boast.

What fine varietie each tongue affords: I like our language, as our men and coast: Who cannot dresse it well, want wit, not words. How neatly doe we give one onely name To parents issue and the sunnes bright starre! A Sonne is light and fruit; a fruitfull flame Chasing the fathers dimnesse, carri'd farre From the first man in th' East, to fresh and new Western discov'ries of posterities So in one word our Lords humilitie We turn upon him in a sense most true:

For what Christ once in humblenesse began, We him in glorie call. The Sonne of Man.

My joy, my life, my crown I My heart was meaning all the day, Somewhat it fain would say: And still it runneth mutt' ring up and down With onely this, My joy ^ my life^ my croivn.

Yet slight not these few words: If truly said, they may take part

Among the best in art. The finenesse which a hymne or psalme affords. Is, when the soul unto the lines accords.

He who craves all the minde. And all the soul, and strength, and time.

If the words onely ryme. Justly complains, that somewhat is behinde To make his verse, or write a hymne in kinde.

Whereas If th' heart be moved. Although the verse be somewhat scant, God doth supplie the want. As whenth' heart sayes (sighing to be approved) could Hove! and stops: God writeth. Loved.

A/TY comforts drop and melt away like snow: I shake my head, and all the thoughts and ends,

Which my fierce youth did bandie, fall and flow Like leaves about me; or like summer friends,

Flye& of estates and sunne-shine.i But to all, Who think me eager, hot, and undertaking, But in my prosecutions slack and small; As a young exhalation, newly waking, Scorns his first bed of dirt, and means the sky But cooling by the way, grows pursie and slow, And setling to a cloud, doth live and die In that dark state of tears: to all, that so

Show me, and set me, I have one reply. Which they that know the rest, know more then L

Where is thy famous force, thy ancient sting? Dea. jilas poore mortally 'void of storie.

Go spell and reade hoiv I have kilPd thy King. Chr, Poore death! and who was hurt thereby?

Thy curse being laid on him, makes thee accurst.

Dea. Let losers talk: yet thou shalt die;

These arms shall crush thee. Chr. Spare not,, do thy worst. I shall be one day better then before: Thou so much worse, that thou shalt be no more.

' I ^HOU who dost dwell and linger here

^ below, Since the condition of this world is frail, Where of all plants afflictions soonest grow; If troubles overtake thee, do not wail:

For who can look for lesse, that loveth

But rather turn the pipe, and waters course

To serve thy sinnes, and furnish thee with store

Of sov'raigne tears, springing from true remorse:

That so in purenesse thou mayst him adore,

Who Pives to man, as he sees iit^-r^

Xhou who condemnest Jewish hate. For choosing Barabbas a murderer

Before the Lord of glorie; Look back upon thine own estate. Call home thine eye (that busie wanderer) That choice may be thy storie.

He that doth love, and love amisse This worlds delights before true Christian joy,

Hath made a Jewish choice: The world an ancient murderer is; Thousands of souls it hath and doth destroy With her enchanting voice.

He that hath made a sorrie wedding Between his soul and gold, and hath preferred False gain before the true, Hath done what he condemnes in reading: For he hath sold for money his deare Lord, And is a Judas-Jew.

Thus we prevent the last great day, And judge our selves. That light, which sin and passion

Did before dimme and choke. When once those snufTes are ta'ne away, Shines bright and cleare, ev'n unto condemnation. Without excuse or cloke.

A H my deare angrie Lord,

Since thou dost love, yet strike; Cast down, yet help afford; Sure I will do the like.

'When first thy sweet and gracious eye Vouchsaf'd ev'n in the midst of youth and night To look upon me, who before did lie Weltring in sinne; I felt a sugred strange delight, Passing all cordials made by any art. Bedew, embalme, and overrunne my heart, And take it in.

Since that time many a bitter storm My soul hath felt, ev'n able to destroy. Had the malicious and ill-meaning harm His swing and sway: But still thy sweet originall joy Sprung from thine eye, did work within my soul. And surging griefs, when they grew bold, controll. And got the day.

If thy first glance so powerful 1 be, A mirth but open'd and seaFd up again; What wonders shall we feel, when we shall see Thy full-ey'd love! When thou shalt look us out of pain. And one aspect of thine spend in delight More then a thousand sunnes disburse in light. In heav'n above.

' I ^HE God of love my shepherd is. And he that doth me feed:

While he is mine, and I am his, What can I want or need?

He leads me to the tender grasse. Where I both feed and rest;

Then to the streams that gently passe In both I have the best.

Or if I stray, he doth convert

And bring my minde in frame:

And all this not for my desert, But for his holy name.

Yea, in deaths shadie black abode Well may I walk, not fear:

For thou art with me; and thy rod To guide, thy stafFe to bear.

Nay, thou dost make me sit and dine, Ev'n in my enemies sight:

My head with oyl, my cup with wine Runnes over day and night.

Surely thy sweet and wondrous love Shall measure all my dayes;

And as it never shall remove, So neither shall my praise.

(Whose precepts she had trampled on before) And wore them for a jewell on her head, Shewing his steps should be the street, Wherein she thenceforth evermore With pensive humblenesse would live and tread:

She being stain'd her self, why did she strive

To make him clean, who could not be defil'd?

Why kept she not her tears for her own faults. And not his feet? Though we could dive In tears like seas, our sinnes are piFd

Deeper then they, in words, and works, and thoughts*

Deare soul, she knew who did vouchsafe and deigne

To bear her filth; and that her sinnes did dash Ev'n God himself: wherefore she was not loth, As she had brought wherewith to stain. So to bring in wherewith to wash: And yet in washing one, she washed both.

HOLINESSE on the head,i Light and perfections 2 on the breast, Harmonious bells below,^ raising the dead To leade them unto life and rest.

Thus are true Aarons drest.

Profanenesse in my head, Defects and darknesse in my breast, A noise of passions ringing me for dead Unto a place where is no rest: Poore priest thus am I drest.

Onely another head I have, another heart and breast, Another musick, making live not dead. Without whom I could have no rest; In him I am well drest.

Christ is my onely head. My alone onely heart and breast. My onely musick, striking me ev'n dead; That to the old man I may rest.

So holy in my head, Perfect and light in my deare breast, My doctrine tun'd by Christ, (who is not dead, But lives in me while I do rest) Come people; Aaron's drest.

TJI O W sweetly doth My Master ^ sound! My ^ Master /

As Amber-greese leaves a rich sent Unto the taster:

So do these words a sweet content, An orientall fragrancie. My Master,

With these all day I do perfume my minde,

My minde ev'n thrust into them both:

That I might finde What cordials make this curious broth, This broth of smells, that feeds and fats my minde.

My Master, shall I speak? O that to thee My servant were a little so. As flesh may be; That these two words might creep and grow

To some degree of spicinesse to thee!

Then should the Pomander,^ which was before A speaking sweet, mend by reflection,

And tell me more: For pardon of my imperfection

Would warm and work it sweeter then before

For when My Master^ which alone is sweet,

And ev'n in my unworthinesse pleasing,

Shall call and meet, My servant y as thee not displeasing,

That call is but the breathing of the sweet.

This breathing would with gains by sweetning me (As sweet things traffick when they meet)

Return to thee. And so this new commerce and sweet Should all my life employ, and busie me.

If we could see below The sphere of vertue, and each shining grace

As plainly as that above doth show; This were the better skie, the brighter place.

God hath made starres the foil To set off vertues; griefs to set off sinning: Yet in this wretched world we toil. As if grief were not foul, nor vertue winning.

npHE harbingers 1 are come. See, see their

^ mark; White is their colour, and behold my head. But must they have my brain? must they dispark Those sparkling notions, which therein were bred?

Must dulnesse turn me to a clod? Yet have they left me, Thoit art still my God.

Good men ye be, to leave me my best room, Ev'n all my heart, and what is lodged there: I passe not, I, what of the rest become. So Thou art still my God, be out of fear.

He will be pleased with that dittie; And if I please him, I write fine and wittie.

Farewell sweet phrases, lovely metaphors. But will ye leave me thus? when ye before Of stews and brothels onely knew the doores, Then did I wash you with my tears, and more. Brought you to Church well drest and clad: My God must have my best, ev'n all I had.

Louely enchanting language, sugar-cane, Hony of roses, whither wilt thou flie? Hath some fond lover tic'd thee to thy bane? And wilt thou leave the Church, and love a stie?

Fie, thou wilt soil thy broider'd coat, And hurt thy self, and him that sings the note.

Let foolish lovers, if they will love dung, With canvas, not with arras clothe their shame: Let follie speak in her own native tongue. True beautie dwells on high: ours is a flame But borrow'd thence to light us thither. Beautie and beauteous words should go together.

Yet if you go, I passe not; take your way: For, Thou art still my God^ is all that ye Perhaps with more embellishment can say. Go birds of spring: let winter have his fee. Let a bleak palenesse chalk the doore. So all within be livelier then before.

jDRESSE me not to take more pleasure ^ In this world of sugred lies. And to use a larger measure

Then my strict, yet welcome size.

Colour'd griefs indeed there are.

Blushing woes, that look as cleare As if they could beautie spare.

t)r if such deceits there be,

Such deUghts I meant to say;

There are no such things to me,

Who have pass'd my right away.

But I will not much oppose

Unto what you now advise:

Onely take this gentle rose,

And therein my answer lies.

What is fairer then a rose?

What is sweeter? yet it purgeth, Purgings enmitie disclose,

Enmitie forbearance urgeth.

If then all that worldlings prize Be contracted to a rose;

Sweetly there indeed it lies. But it biteth in the close.

So this flower doth judge and sentence Worldly joyes to be a scourge:

For they all produce repentance, And repentance is a purge.

But I health, not physick choose: Onely though I you oppose,

Say that fairly I refuse.

npHROW away thy rod, ^ Throw away thy wrath

0 my God, Take the gentle path.

For my hearts desire Unto thine is bent:

1 aspire To a full consent.

Not a word or look I affect to own,

But by book, And thy book alone.

Yet I creep To the throne of grace.

Then let wrath remove; Love will do the deed:

For with love Stonie hearts will bleed.

Love is swift of foot; Love's a man of warre.

And can shoot And can hit from farre.

Who can scape his bow? That which wrought on thee,

Brought thee low. Needs must work on me.

Throw away thy rod; Though man frailties hath,

Thou art God: Throw away thy wrath.

/^OME ye hither all, whose taste Is your waste;

Save your cost, and mend your fare.

God is here prepared and drest,

God, in whom all dainties are.

Come ye hither all, whom wine Doth define.

Naming you not to your good:

Weep what ye have drunk amisse,

Which before ye drink is bloud.

Come ye hither all, whom pain

Bringing all your sinnes to sight:

Taste and fear not: God is here In this cheer,

And on sinne doth cast the fright.

Come ye hither all, whom joy

While ye graze without your bounds:

Here is joy that drowneth quite Your delight,

As a floud the lower grounds.

Come ye hither all, whose love

And exalts you to the skie:

Here is love, which having breath Ev'n in death.

After death can never die.

Still invite, still call to thee:

For it seems but just and right

Where is all, there all should be.

'^TT'ELCOME sweet and sacred cheer

With me, in me, live and dwell: For thy neatnesse passeth sight,

Thy delight Passeth tongue to taste or tell.

O what sweetnesse from the bowl

Such as is, and makes divine! Is some starre (fled from the sphere) Melted there, As we sugar melt in wine?

Or hath sweetnesse in the bread

To subdue the smell of sinne;

Flowers, and gummes, and powders giving All their living,

Lest the enemie should winne?

Doubtlesse, neither starre nor flower

Such a sweetnesse to impart:

Onely God, who gives perfumes,

And with it perfumes my heart.

But as Pomanders and wood

Yet being bruis'd or better sented:

God, to show how farre his love

When I had forgot my birth.

In delights of earth was drown'd;

God took bloud, and needs would be Spilt with me.

And so found me on the ground.

Having rais'd me to look up,

Sweetly he doth meet my taste. But I still being low and short,

Far re from court. Wine becomes a wing at last.

To the skie: Where I wipe mine eyes, and see What I seek, for' what I sue;

Him I view. Who hath done so much for me.

Let the wonder of this pi tie

And take up my lines and life;

Hearken under pain of death,

Strive in this, and love the strife.

Let wits contest. And with their words and posies windows fill:

Lesse then the least Of all thy mercies,^ is my posie still.

This on my ring, This by my picture, in my book I write:

Whether I sing, Or say, or dictate, this is my delight.

Invention rest. Comparisons go play, wit use thy will:

Lesse then the least Of all Gods mercies^ is my posie still.

OOULS joy, when thou art gone, ^ And I alone.

Which cannot be, Because thou dost abide with me. And I depend on thee;

Yet when thou dost suppresse

Of thy abode, And in my powers not stirre abroad, But leave me to my load:

No stormie night Can so afflict or so affright, As thy eclipsed light.

Ah Lord! do not withdraw, Lest want of aw Make Sinne appeare; And when thou dost but shine lesse cleare. Say, that thou art not here.

And then what life I have, While Sinne doth rave, And falsly boast. That I may seek, but thou art lost;

Thou and alone thou know'st.

I half beleeve. That Sinne sayes true: but while I grieve, Thou com' St and dost relieve.

npEACH 2 me, my God and King, ^ In all things thee to see, And what I do in any thing, To do it as for thee:

Not 2 rudely, as a beast. To runne into an action; But still to make thee prepossest. And give it his perfection.

A man that looks on glasse, On it may stay his eye; Or if he pleaseth, through it passe, And then the heav'n espie.

All may of thee partake: Nothing can be so mean. Which with his^ tincture (for thy sake) Will not grow bright and clean.

A servant with this clause Makes drudgerie divine: Who sweeps a room, as for thy laws, Makes that and th' action fine.

This is the famous stone That turneth all to gold: For that which God doth touch and own Cannot for lesse be told.^

A WREATHED garland of deserved praise.

Of praise deserved, unto thee I give, I give to thee, who knowest all my wayes. My crooked winding wayes, wherein I live, Wherein I die, not live: for life is straight. Straight as a line, and ever tends to thee. To thee, who art more farre above deceit. Then deceit seems above simplicitie. Give me simplicitie, that I may live. So live and like, that I may know thy wayes. Know them and practise them: then shall I give For this poore wreath, give thee a crown of praise.

T^EATH, thou wast once an uncouth hideous ^ thing,

Nothing but bones, The sad effect of sadder grones; Thy mouth was open, but thou couldst not sing.

For we consider' d thee as at some six Or ten yeares hence, After the losse of life and sense, Flesh being turn'd to dust, and bones to sticks.

We lookt on this side of thee, shooting short; Where we did finde The shells of fledge souls left behinde. Dry dust, which sheds no tears, but may extort.

But since our Saviours death did put some bloud Into thy face; Thou art grown fair and full of grace, Much in request, much sought ^ for, as a good.

For we do now behold thee gay and glad, As at dooms-day; When souls shall wear their new aray. And all thy bones with beautie shall be clad.

Therefore we can go die as sleep, and trust Half that we have Unto an honest faithfull grave; Making our pillows either down, or dust.

Come away, Make no delay. Summon all the dust to rise, Till it stirre, and rubbe the eyes; While this member jogs the other, Each one whispring, Live you brother

Come away. Make this the day. Dust, alas, no musick feels. But thy trumpet; then it kneels, As peculiar notes and strains Cure Tarantulaes raging pains.

Come away, O make no stay! Let the graves make their confession, Lest at length they plead possession: Fleshes stubbornnesse may have Read that lesson to the grave.

Come away. Thy flock doth stray. Some to windes their bodie ^ lend, And in them may drown a friend: Some in noisome vapours grow To a plague and publick wo.

Man is out of order hurl'd, ParceFd out to all the world. Lord, thy broken consort raise, And the musick shall be praise.

LMIGHTIE Judge, how shall poore

Thy dreadfull look, Able a heart of iron to appall,

When thou shalt call For ev'ry mans peculiar book?

What others mean to do, I know not well;

Yet I heare ^ tell. That some will turn thee to some leaves therein

So void of sinne, That they in merit shall excell.

But I resolve, when thou shalt call for mine, That to decline.

And thrust a Testament into thy hand;

Let that be scann'd. There thou shalt finde my faults are thine.

OWHO will show me those delights on high? Echo. 1. Thou Echo, thou art mortall, all men know.

Echo. No. Wert thou not born among the trees ^ and leaves?

Echo. Eeaves. And are there any leaves, that ^ still abide?

Echo. Bide. What leaves are they? impart the matter wholly.

Echo. Holy. Are holy leaves the Echo then of blisse \

Echo. Tes. Then tell me, what is that supreme delight I Echo. Light. Light to the minde: what shall the will enjoy?

Echo. Joy. But are there cares and businesse with the pleasure?

LOVE bade me welcome: yet my soul drew back,

Guiltie of dust and sinne. But quick-ey'd Love, observing me grow slack

From my first entrance in. Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning,

A guest, I answer'd, worthy to be here: Love said, you shall be he.

I the unkinde, ungrateful 1? Ah my deare, I cannot look on thee.

Love took my hand, and smiling did reply. Who made the eyes but I?

Truth Lord, but I have marr'd them: let my shame

Go where it doth deserve. And know you not, sayes Love, who bore the blame?

My deare, then I will serve. You must sit down, sayes Love, and taste my meat: So I did sit and eat.

Glorie be to God on high^ and on earth peace ^ good iv'ill towards men.

LMIGHTIE Lord, who from thy glorious

Seest and rulest all things ev'n as one: The smallest ant or atome knows thy power, Known also to each minute of an houre: Much more do Common-weals acknowledge thee, And wrap their policies in thy decree. Complying with thy counsels, doing nought Which doth not meet with an eternall thought. But above all, thy Church and Spouse doth prove Not the decrees of power, but bands of love. Early didst thou arise to plant this vine,i Which might the more indeare it to be thine. Spices come from the East; so did thy Spouse, Trimme as the light, sweet as the laden boughs Of Noahs shadie vine, chaste as the dove; Prepar'd and fitted to receive thy love.^ The course was westward, that the sunne might light

As well our understanding as our sight. Where th' Ark did rest, there Abraham began To bring the other Ark from Canaan. Moses pursu'd this: but King Solomon Finish'd and fixt the old religion. When it grew loose, the Jews did hope in vain By nailing Christ to fasten it again.