In making thee the wrought for fame, And with flow progress di w thy frame, As he that painted for eternity.
In her beft mould fhe did thee caft,
But thou waft over-wrought,and made too fine to laft.
VIII.
Thy foul, the faint of this fair fhrine,
Was pure without alloy, and all divine.
Active and nimble as ethereal light,
Kind as the Angels are above,
Who live on harmony and love;
The rays thou fhott'ft were warm, as well as bright:
So mild, fo pleafing was thy fire
That none could envy, and all must admire.
Sickness, to whose strong fiege refign
-The best of natures, did but fet forth thine.
Wifely thou didst thy paffions all controul,
And like a martyr in the fire
Devout and patient didft expire,
Pains could expel, but not untune thy foul.
Thou bor't them all fo moderately
Asif thou mean'ft to teach how I fhould mourn for
No wonder fuch a noble mind
Her way again to Heaven fo foon could find.
Angels, as 'tis but feldom they appear,
So neither do they make long stay,
They do but vifit and away.
"Tis pain for them t' endure our too grofs fphere. We could not hope for a reprieve,
She muft dye foon, that made fuch hatte to live.
Heaven did thy lovely prefence want,
And therefore did fo early thee transplant.
Not 'cause he dar'd not truft thee longer here,,
No, fuch fweet innocence as thine
To take a ftain was too divine,
But fure he coveted to have thee there;
For meaner fouls he could delay,
Impatient for thine, he would not stay.]
The Angels too did covet thee,
advance their love, their blifs, their harmony.
They'd lately made an anthem to their King,
An anthem which contain'd a part
All fweet, and full of heavenly art,
Which none but thy harmonious foul could fing..
'Twas all Heaven's vote thou shouldft be gone
To fill th' Almighty's choir, and to adorn his throngs
Others when gone t' eternal reft
Are faid t' augment the number of the bleft.
Thou doft their very happiness improve,
Out of the croud they fingle thee,
Fond of thy fweet fociety,
Thou waft our darling, and art fo above.
Why fhould we of thy lofs complain,
Which is not only thine, but Heaven's gain!
There doft thou fit in blifs and light,
Whilft Lthy praise in mournful numbers write.
There doft thou drink at pleasure's virgin fpring,
And find'st no leifure in thy bliss
Ought to admire below, but this.
How can I mourn, when thou doft anthems fing
Thy pardon, my fweet Saint, I implore,
My foul ne'er difconform'd from thine before.
Nor will I now: My tears fhall flow No more, I will be bleft 'cause thou art fo.. I'll borrow comfort from thy happy state, In blifs I'll fympathize with thee.
As once I did in mifery,
And by reflection will be fortunate..
Pil practice now what's done above, And by thy happy ftate my own improve..
Long have I view'd, long have I thought
And held with trembling hand this bit ter draught?
'Twas now just to my lips applied,
Nature fhrank in, and all my courage dy'd.
But now refolv'd and firm I'll be,
Since, Lord, 'tis mingled, and reach'd out by thee.
II.
I'll truft my great Phyfician's skill,
I know what he prefcribes can ne'er be ill;
To each disease he knows what's fit,
I own him wife and good, and do submit ;
I'll now no longer grieve or pine,
Since 'tis thy pleasure, Lord, it shall be mine.
III.
Thy med'cine puts me to great smart,
Thou'ft wounded me in my moft tender part ;
But 'tis with a defign to cure,
I must and will thy fovereign touch endure.
All that I priz❜d below is gone,
But yet I ftill will pray, thy will be done.
Since 'tis thy fentence I fhould part
With the most precious treasure of my heart,
I freely that and more refign,
My heart it self, as its delight, is thine;
My little all I give to thee,
Thou gav'ft a greater gift, thy Son, to me.
V.
He left true blifs and joys above,
Himself he emptied of all good, but love:
For me he freely did forfake
More good, than he from me can ever take.
A mortal life for a divine
He took, and did at laft even that refign.
Take all, great God, I will not grieve,
But ftill will with that I had ftill to give.
I hear thy voice, thou bid'ft me quit
My paradife, 1 blefs and do fubmit.
I will not murmur at thy word,
Nor beg thy Angel to fheath up his sword.
Own (my gentle guide) that much I owe
For all thy tutelary care and love,
Through life's wild maze thou'ft led me hitherto, Nor ever wilt (I hope) thy tent remove;
But yet t' have been compleatly true, Thou should't have guarded her life too. Thou know'ft my foul did most inhabit there, I could have spared thee t' have guarded her.
But fince by thy neglect, or Heaven's decree,
She's gone t'encreafe the pleasures of the bleft,
Since in this fphere my Sun I ne'er fhall fee,
Grant me (kind spirit) grant me this request:
When I fhall eafe thy charge and dye,
(For fure I think thou wilt be by)
Lead me through all the numerous hoft above,
And bring my new-flown foul to her I love.
With what high paffion fhall we then embrace!
What pleafure will the take t' impart to me
The rites and methods of that facred place,
And what a Heaven 'twill be to learn from thee!
That pleasure I fhall then, I fear,
As ill as now my forrow bear;
And could then any chance my life destroy,
I should, I fear, then dye again with joy.
Ell, Fortune, now (if e'er) you've fhewn
What you had in your power to do,
My wandring love at length had fix'd
One who might please even unconftant you.
Me of this one you have depriv'd
On whom I stay'd my foul, in whom I liv'd;
You've fhewn your power, and I refign,
But now I'll fhew thee, Fortune, what's in mine.
II.
I will not, no, I will not grieve,
My tears within their banks fhall ftand;
Do what thou wilt, I am refolved to live,
Since thee I can't, I will my felf command.
I will my paffions so controul
That neither they nor thou fhalt hurt my foul;
I'll run fo counter to thy will,
Thy good I'll relish, but not feel thy ill.
I felt the shaft that laft was fent,
But now thy quiver I defy.
I fear no pain from thee or difcontent,
Clad in the armour of philofophy.
Thy laft feiz'd on me out of guard,
Unarm'd too far within thy reach I dar'd;
But now the field I'll dearly fell,
I'm now (at least by thee) impaffible.
My foul now foars high and fublime,
Beyond the fpring of thy best bow,
Like thofe who fo long on high mountains climb
Till they fee rain and thunder here below.
In vain thou'lt fpend thy darts on me,
My fort's too ftrong for thy artillery;
Thy clofeft aim won't touch my mind, Here's all thy gain, ftill to be thought more blind.
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