What though my bodie run to dust? Faith cleaves unto it, counting ev'ry grain, With an exact and most particular trust, Reserving all for flesh again.

21. PRAYER.

PRAYER, the church's banquet, angel's age,
God's breath in man returning to his birth,
The soul in paraphrase, heart in pilgrimage,
The Christian plummet sounding heav'n and earth:

Engine against th' Almightie, sinner's towre,

Reversed thunder, Christ-side-piercing spear, The six daies' world-transposing in an houre, A kinde of tune, which all things heare and fear;

Softnesse, and peace, and joy, and love, and blisse, Exalted manna, gladnesse of the best,

Heaven in ordinarie, man well drest,

The milkie way, the bird of Paradise,

Church-bels beyond the stars heard, the soul's

bloud,

The land of spices, something understood.

22. THE HOLY COMMUNION.

Not in rich furniture, or fine array,
Nor in a wedge of gold,

Thou, who from me wast sold,

To me dost now thyself convey;

For so thou should'st without me still have been, Leaving within me sinne :

But by the way of nourishment and strength,
Thou creep'st into my breast;

Making thy way my rest,

And thy small quantities my length;
Which spread their forces into every part,
Meeting sinnes force and art.

Yet can these not get over to my soul,
Leaping the wall that parts

Our souls and fleshly hearts;

But as th' outworks, they may controll My rebel-flesh, and carrying thy name, Affright both sinne and shame.

Onely thy grace, which with these elements comes, Knoweth the ready way,

And hath the privie key,

Op'ning the soul's most subtile rooms: While those to spirits refin'd, at doore attend Despatches from their friend.

Give me my captive soul, or take
My body also thither.

Another lift like this will make

Them both to be together.

Before that sinne turn'd flesh to stone,
And all our lump to leaven;

A fervent sigh might well have blown
Our innocent earth to heaven.

For sure when Adam did not know

To sinne, or sinne to smother; He might to heav'n from Paradise go, As from one room t' another.

Thou hast restor'd us to this ease
By this thy heav'nly bloud,

Which I can go to, when I please,

And leave th' earth to their food.

23. ANTIPHON.

Cho. LET all the world in ev'ry corner sing,
My God and King.

Vers. The heav'ns are not too high,
His praise may thither flie:

The earth is not too low,

His praises there may grow.

Cho. Let all the world in ev'ry corner sing,
My God and King.

Vers. The church with psalms must shout,
No doore can keep them out:

But above all, the heart

Must bear the longest part.

Cho. Let all the world in ev'ry corner sing,

My God and King.

1

24. LOVE.

1.

IMMORTAL LOVE, authour of this great frame, Sprung from that beautie which can never fade; How hath man parcel'd out thy glorious name, And thrown it on that dust which thou hast made,

While mortall love doth all the title gain!

Which siding with invention, they together Bear all the sway, possessing heart and brain, (Thy workmanship) and give thee share in neither.

Wit fancies beautie, beautie raiseth wit:

The world is theirs; they two play out the game, Thou standing by: and though thy glorious name Wrought our deliverance from the infernall pit,

Who sings thy praise? onely a skarf or glove Doth warm our hands, and make them write of love.

2.

Immortal Heat, O let thy greater flame

Attract the lesser to it: let those fires

Which shall consume the world, first make it tame, And kindle in our hearts such true desires,

As may consume our lusts, and make thee way.
Then shall our hearts pant thee; then shall our
All her invention on thine altar lay,
And there in hymnes send back thy fire again:

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Our eies shall see thee, which before saw dust;

Dust blown by wit, till that they both were blinde: Thou shalt recover all thy goods in kinde, Who wert disseized by usurping lust:

All knees shall bow to thee; all wits shall rise, And praise him who did make and mend our eies.

25. THE TEMPER.

How should I praise thee, Lord! how should my rymes
Gladly engrave thy love in steel,

If what my soul doth feel sometimes,
My soul might ever feel!

Although there were some fourtie heav'ns, or more,

Sometimes I peere above them all;
Sometimes I hardly reach a score,
Sometimes to hell I fall.

O rack me not to such a vast extent;
Those distances belong to thee:
The world's too little for thy tent,
A grave too big for me.

Wilt thou meet arms with man, that thou dost stretch
A crumme of dust from heav'n to hell?

Will great God measure with a wretch?
Shall he thy stature spell?