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LOVE, lift me up upon thy golden wings, |
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From this base world unto thy heavens hight, |
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Where I may see those admirable things |
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Which there thou workest by thy soveraine might, |
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Farre above feeble reach of earthly sight, |
5 |
That I thereof an heavenly hymne may sing |
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Unto the God of Love, high heavens king. |
|
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Many lewd layes (ah, woe is me the more!) |
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In praise of that mad fit which fooles call love, |
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I have in th’ heat of youth made heretofore, |
10 |
That in light wits did loose affection move. |
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But all those follies now I do reprove, |
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And turned have the tenor of my string, |
|
The heavenly prayses of true love to sing. |
|
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And ye that wont with greedy vaine desire |
15 |
To reade my fault, and wondring at my flame, |
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To warme your selves at my wide sparckling fire, |
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Sith now that heat is quenched, quench my blame, |
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And in her ashes shrowd my dying shame: |
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For who my passed follies now pursewes, |
20 |
Beginnes his owne, and my old fault renewes. |
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BEFORE this worlds great frame, in which al things |
|
Are now containd, found any being place, |
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Ere flitting Time could wag his eyas wings |
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About that mightie bound, which doth embrace |
25 |
The rolling spheres, and parts their houres by space, |
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That high eternall Powre, which now doth move |
|
In all these things, mov’d in it selfe by love. |
|
|
It lov’d it selfe, because it selfe was faire; |
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(For faire is lov’d;) and of it selfe begot |
30 |
Like to it selfe his eldest Sonne and Heire, |
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Eternall, pure, and voide of sinfull blot, |
|
The firstling of his joy, in whom no jot |
|
Of loves dislike or pride was to be found, |
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Whom he therefore with equall honour crownd. |
35 |
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With him he raignd, before all time prescribed, |
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In endlesse glorie and immortall might, |
|
Together with that third from them derived, |
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Most wise, most holy, most almightie Spright, |
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Whose kingdomes throne no thought of earthly wight |
40 |
Can comprehend, much lesse my trembling verse |
|
With equall words can hope it to reherse. |
|
|
Yet, O most blessed Spirit, pure lampe of light, |
|
Eternall spring of grace and wisedome trew, |
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Vouchsafe to shed into my barren spright |
45 |
Some little drop of thy celestiall dew, |
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That may my rymes with sweet infuse embrew, |
|
And give me words equall unto my thought, |
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To tell the marveiles by thy mercie wrought. |
|
|
Yet being pregnant still with powrefull grace, |
50 |
And full of fruitfull love, that loves to get |
|
Things like himselfe, and to enlarge his race, |
|
His second brood, though not in powre so great, |
|
Yet full of beautie, next he did beget, |
|
An infinite increase of angels bright, |
55 |
All glistring glorious in their Makers light. |
|
|
To them the heavens illimitable hight |
|
(Not this round heaven, which we from hence behold, |
|
Adornd with thousand lamps of burning light, |
|
And with ten thousand gemmes of shyning gold) |
60 |
He gave as their inheritance to hold, |
|
That they might serve him in eternall blis, |
|
And be partakers of those joyes of his. |
|
|
There they in their trinall triplicities |
|
About him wait, and on his will depend, |
65 |
Either with nimble wings to cut the skies, |
|
When he them on his messages doth send, |
|
Or on his owne dread presence to attend, |
|
Where they behold the glorie of his light, |
|
And caroll hymnes of love both day and night. |
70 |
|
Both day and night is unto them all one, |
|
For he his beames doth still to them extend, |
|
That darknesse there appeareth never none; |
|
Ne hath their day, ne hath their blisse an end, |
|
But there their termelesse time in pleasure spend; |
75 |
Ne ever should their happinesse decay, |
|
Had not they dar’d their Lord to disobay. |
|
|
But pride, impatient of long resting peace, |
|
Did puffe them up with greedy bold ambition, |
|
That they gan cast their state how to increase |
80 |
Above the fortune of their first condition, |
|
And sit in Gods owne seat without commission: |
|
The brightest angell, even the Child of Light, |
|
Drew millions more against their God to fight. |
|
|
Th’ Almighty, seeing their so bold assay, |
85 |
Kindled the flame of his consuming yre, |
|
And with his onely breath them blew away |
|
From heavens hight, to which they did aspyre, |
|
To deepest hell, and lake of damned fyre; |
|
Where they in darknesse and dread horror dwell, |
90 |
Hating the happie light from which they fell. |
|
|
So that next off-spring of the Makers love, |
|
Next to himselfe in glorious degree, |
|
Degendering to hate, fell from above |
|
Through pride; (for pride and love may ill agree) |
95 |
And now of sinne to all ensample bee: |
|
How then can sinfull flesh it selfe assure, |
|
Sith purest angels fell to be impure? |
|
|
But that Eternall Fount of love and grace, |
|
Still flowing forth his goodnesse unto all, |
100 |
Now seeing left a waste and emptie place |
|
In his wyde pallace, through those angels fall, |
|
Cast to supply the same, and to enstall |
|
A new unknowen colony therein, |
|
Whose root from earths base ground worke shold begin. |
105 |
|
Therefore of clay, base, vile, and next to nought, |
|
Yet form’d by wondrous skill, and by his might, |
|
According to an heavenly patterne wrought, |
|
Which he had fashiond in his wise foresight, |
|
He man did make, and breathd a living spright |
110 |
Into his face most beautifull and fayre, |
|
Endewd with wisedomes riches, heavenly, rare. |
|
|
Such he him made, that he resemble might |
|
Himselfe, as mortall thing immortall could; |
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Him to be lord of every living wight |
115 |
He made by love out of his owne like mould, |
|
In whom he might his mightie selfe behould: |
|
For love doth love the thing belov’d to see, |
|
That like it selfe in lovely shape may bee. |
|
|
But man, forgetfull of his Makers grace, |
120 |
No lesse then angels, whom he did ensew, |
|
Fell from the hope of promist heavenly place, |
|
Into the mouth of death, to sinners dew, |
|
And all his off-spring into thraldome threw: |
|
Where they for ever should in bonds remaine |
125 |
Of never dead, yet ever dying paine. |
|
|
Till that great Lord of Love, which him at first |
|
Made of meere love, and after liked well, |
|
Seeing him lie like creature long accurst |
|
In that deepe horror of despeyred hell, |
130 |
Him, wretch, in doole would let no lenger dwell, |
|
But cast out of that bondage to redeeme, |
|
And pay the price, all were his debt extreeme. |
|
|
Out of the bosome of eternall blisse, |
|
In which he reigned with his glorious Syre, |
135 |
He downe descended, like a most demisse |
|
And abject thrall, in fleshes fraile attyre, |
|
That he for him might pay sinnes deadly hyre, |
|
And him restore unto that happie state |
|
In which he stood before his haplesse fate. |
140 |
|
In flesh at first the guilt committed was, |
|
Therefore in flesh it must be satisfyde: |
|
Nor spirit, nor angell, though they man surpas, |
|
Could make amends to God for mans misguyde, |
|
But onely man himselfe, who selfe did slyde. |
145 |
So, taking flesh of sacred virgins wombe, |
|
For mans deare sake he did a man become. |
|
|
And that most blessed bodie, which was borne |
|
Without all blemish or reprochfull blame, |
|
He freely gave to be both rent and torne |
150 |
Of cruell hands, who with despightfull shame |
|
Revyling him, that them most vile became, |
|
At length him nayled on a gallow tree, |
|
And slew the just by most unjust decree. |
|
|
O huge and most unspeakeable impression |
155 |
Of loves deepe wound, that pierst the piteous hart |
|
Of that deare Lord with so entyre affection, |
|
And sharply launching every inner part, |
|
Dolours of death into his soule did dart; |
|
Doing him die, that never it deserved, |
160 |
To free his foes, that from his heast had swerved! |
|
|
What hart can feele least touch of so sore launch, |
|
Or thought can think the depth of so deare wound, |
|
Whose bleeding sourse their streames yet never staunch, |
|
But stil do flow, and freshly still redound, |
165 |
To heale the sores of sinfull soules unsound, |
|
And clense the guilt of that infected cryme, |
|
Which was enrooted in all fleshly slyme? |
|
|
O blessed Well of Love! O Floure of Grace! |
|
O glorious Morning Starre! O Lampe of Light! |
170 |
Most lively image of thy Fathers face, |
|
Eternall King of Glorie, Lord of Might, |
|
Meeke Lambe of God, before all worlds behight, |
|
How can we thee requite for all this good? |
|
Or what can prize that thy most precious blood? |
175 |
|
Yet nought thou ask’st in lieu of all this love, |
|
But love of us, for guerdon of thy paine. |
|
Ay me! what can us lesse then that behove? |
|
Had he required life of us againe, |
|
Had it beene wrong to aske his owne with gaine? |
180 |
He gave us life, he it restored lost; |
|
Then life were least, that us so litle cost. |
|
|
But he our life hath left unto us free, |
|
Free that was thrall, and blessed that was band; |
|
Ne ought demaunds, but that we loving bee, |
185 |
As he himselfe hath lov’d us afore hand, |
|
And bound therto with an eternall band, |
|
Him first to love, that us so dearely bought, |
|
And next, our brethren, to his image wrought. |
|
|
Him first to love, great right and reason is, |
190 |
Who first to us our life and being gave; |
|
And after, when we fared had amisse, |
|
Us wretches from the second death did save; |
|
And last, the food of life, which now we have, |
|
Even himselfe in his deare sacrament, |
195 |
To feede our hungry soules, unto us lent. |
|
|
Then next, to love our brethren, that were made |
|
Of that selfe mould and that selfe Makers hand |
|
That we, and to the same againe shall fade, |
|
Where they shall have like heritage of land, |
200 |
How ever here on higher steps we stand; |
|
Which also were with selfe same price redeemed |
|
That we, how ever of us light esteemed. |
|
|
And were they not, yet since that loving Lord |
|
Commaunded us to love them for his sake, |
205 |
Even for his sake, and for his sacred word, |
|
Which in his last bequest he to us spake, |
|
We should them love, and with their needs partake; |
|
Knowing that whatsoere to them we give, |
|
We give to him, by whom we all doe live. |
210 |
|
Such mercy he by his most holy reede |
|
Unto us taught, and to approve it trew, |
|
Ensampled it by his most righteous deede, |
|
Shewing us mercie, miserable crew! |
|
That we the like should to the wretches shew, |
215 |
And love our brethren; thereby to approve |
|
How much himselfe, that loved us, we love. |
|
|
Then rouze thy selfe, O Earth, out of thy soyle, |
|
In which thou wallowest like to filthy swyne, |
|
And doest thy mynd in durty pleasures moyle, |
220 |
Unmindfull of that dearest Lord of thyne; |
|
Lift up to him thy heavie clouded eyne, |
|
That thou his soveraine bountie mayst behold, |
|
And read through love his mercies manifold. |
|
|
Beginne from first, where he encradled was |
225 |
In simple cratch, wrapt in a wad of hay, |
|
Betweene the toylefull oxe and humble asse, |
|
And in what rags, and in how base aray, |
|
The glory of our heavenly riches lay, |
|
When him the silly shepheards came to see, |
230 |
Whom greatest princes sought on lowest knee. |
|
|
From thence reade on the storie of his life, |
|
His humble carriage, his unfaulty wayes, |
|
His cancred foes, his fights, his toyle, his strife, |
|
His paines, his povertie, his sharpe assayes |
235 |
Through which he past his miserable dayes, |
|
Offending none, and doing good to all, |
|
Yet being malist both of great and small. |
|
|
And looke at last, how of most wretched wights |
|
He taken was, betrayd, and false accused; |
240 |
How with most scornefull taunts, and fell despights, |
|
He was revyld, disgrast, and foule abused, |
|
How scourgd, how crownd, how buffeted, how brused; |
|
And lastly, how twixt robbers crucifyde, |
|
With bitter wounds through hands, through feet, and syde. |
245 |
|
Then let thy flinty hart, that feeles no paine, |
|
Empierced be with pittifull remorse, |
|
And let thy bowels bleede in every vaine, |
|
At sight of his most sacred heavenly corse, |
|
So torne and mangled with malicious forse, |
250 |
And let thy soule, whose sins his sorrows wrought, |
|
Melt into teares, and grone in grieved thought. |
|
|
With sence whereof whilest so thy softened spirit |
|
Is inly toucht, and humbled with meeke zeale, |
|
Through meditation of his endlesse merit, |
255 |
Lift up thy mind to th’ author of thy weale, |
|
And to his soveraine mercie doe appeale; |
|
Learne him to love, that loved thee so deare, |
|
And in thy brest his blessed image beare. |
|
|
With all thy hart, with all thy soule and mind, |
260 |
Thou must him love, and his beheasts embrace; |
|
All other loves, with which the world doth blind |
|
Weake fancies, and stirre up affections base, |
|
Thou must renounce, and utterly displace, |
|
And give thy selfe unto him full and free, |
265 |
That full and freely gave himselfe to thee. |
|
|
Then shalt thou feele thy spirit so possest, |
|
And ravisht with devouring great desire |
|
Of his deare selfe, that shall thy feeble brest |
|
Inflame with love, and set thee all on fire |
270 |
With burning zeale, through every part entire, |
|
That in no earthly thing thou shalt delight, |
|
But in his sweet and amiable sight. |
|
|
Thenceforth all worlds desire will in thee dye, |
|
And all earthes glorie, on which men do gaze, |
275 |
Seeme durt and drosse in thy pure sighted eye, |
|
Compar’d to that celestiall beauties blaze, |
|
Whose glorious beames all fleshly sense doth daze |
|
With admiration of their passing light, |
|
Blinding the eyes and lumining the spright. |
280 |
|
Then shall thy ravisht soule inspired bee |
|
With heavenly thoughts, farre above humane skil, |
|
And thy bright radiant eyes shall plainely see |
|
Th’ idee of his pure glorie present still |
|
Before thy face, that all thy spirits shall fill |
285 |
With sweete enragement of celestiall love, |
|
Kindled through sight of those faire things above |