University of Virginia Library

Heaven! Lord what's that? Is it that heap of Treasure,
The Worldling hugs so, or that sweet of pleasure
So idoliz'd, is it that glorious puffe
Of honour, wherewith men ne're swell enuffe.
Or is it Beauty, whose Cœlestial fire
Blows up that Ætna of the Worlds desire?
Lyes it else in revenge, that sweet, sweet ease
Of injuries no, no, 'tis none of these;
For wealth, alas, has Wings, and all the rest
Are vanity of vanity at best.
What is it then? Earths wide streacht Canopie,
The glittering surface of the ambient Sky?
Is it the Sun, that glorious globe of light,
Or his bright Consort, Empresse of the night?
No, none of these; we must ascend a sphear,
Two stories higher than our eyes, and there.
Even there this Heaven of Heaven is, but first I
E're I can tell You what it is must dye.
In vain for Heaven, I darkling grope about,
I cannot see't untill these eyes be out.
Eyes have not seen, nor yet hath humane ear,
Heard of the joyes, those joyes of joyes are there.
Nor hath it enter'd into th' heart of Man,
'Tis too angust, ah, 'tis too small a span
To entertain't, we must per force decline it,
Heaven were not Heaven, could flesh & blood define it?
Grant (O my God) that I not being able,
To shew ye Heaven, make not Heaven seem a fable.
But lo! the Sacred spirit here descends
Unto our understanding, and commends.
This inexpressive Paradise, and even
As it were by reflexion, showes us Heaven.
Which he a sumptuous City calls, built on,
And by Christ Jesus the true Corner stone.
This City, not with hands made, is four square,
East, West, North, South-gates equidistant are.
Length, height, and breadth do all conspire to be
The uniform of perfect Symetry.
Twelve Gates there are of most magnificent state,
Made of twelve Pearls, of every Pearl a Gate.
And, as twelve Gates of twelve vast Pearls so here,
Twelve Rich Foundations of twelve gems appear.
The Sardus, Saphyr, and the Sardonix,
The Topas, Jasper, and Jacynth are six.
The Beriu, Amethist, and Calcedenite,
Chrysoprasus emral'd, and Chysolite.
Make up the four times three, whose sparkling light,
Banish all possibility of night.
The stately streets all along as ye passe,
Are pav'd with Gold transparenter than glasse.
Through which the silver streams of Life, convey
Their Crystal Currents whilst in Rich array.
On either side this glittering Tagus, stand
The Trees of Life, whose Boughs bow to the hand.
There's neither Sun, nor Moon, in that bright sphear,
He that lent them their light, himself shines there.
There's none that watch, nor none that guard relieves,
What need there, since there's neither night nor theeves.
There's nothing grieves, no being al amort:
Darknesse and Death are Strangers in that Court.
Envy, back-biting, malice, and disgrace
Sorrow, and sicknesse, come not in that place.
Without are Dogs, nothing that is unclean,
Has any part in that all blissful Scene.
But meeknesse joy, and all extreams of Love,
Such are the Stars in that bright Orb that move,
It is a Kingdom of so vast Renown,
And Triumph, every Subject wears a Crown.
Where (blessed God) they feast their eyes on thee.
And look their bliss into Eternity.

How shall I hope sufficiently t'admire
Those living Powers in thy Cœlestial Quire?
Those Thousand Thousands that attend upon
The radiant Throne of thy all glorious Son.
Angels, Archangels, Cherubim, and Thrones,
Amazing Seraphim, and Dominions.
Which, in thy highest presence alwayes sit
Enjoying Happinesse next to infinit.
Any of which descending from his story,
Would Extacy, and kill us with his glory.
Here, close Your Lids my daring eyes, least ye
Where Angels hide their Faces be too free.
Lord how I reach, and roam t'uncurtain Heaven!
Whilst I am even of mine own self bereaven.
O take these Fetters, take these Clogs from me,
Take these scales from mine eyes that I may see.
Thy Tabernacle, thy Hierusalem,
Which thou, Heavens Monarch hast prepar'd for them
That love, and serve thee, ah me! when shall I
Come and appear before thy Majesty?
Where e're thou be, let me but see thy face,
Ile ask no other Heaven, no other place.
If thou descend into th' abyss below,
My soul shall wish no other Heaven to know.
Where thou art, Heaven is, 'tis not the resort
Of Courtiers, but the King that makes the Court.
I do not stand on this, or any place,
Only in mercy, let me see thy face.
Thus have I taken pains, to shew ye that
Which is, I must confess I know not what.