And on they walke, vntil anone they came,
Vnto a Church, not built of lime or stone
But that true Church, of that Immortal fame
That is worldes wonder, and heauens loue alone:
Whose head is Christ, whose Martirs are his pillers
And al whose members, are his wordes wel-willers.
The gate, is Grace, Contrition, is the key,
The locke, is loue, the porter, Penitence:
Where humble faith, must heauenly fauour stay,
Till pity talke with vertues patience:
While angels sighes, the sinners waie deuise,
To haue his entraunce into paradise.
Which is in deede the plot of al perfection,
Drawne by the compasse of diuine conceite,
Whose line, is life laide by his loues direction
Who makes al flesh vpon the spirite waite:
Whose flowers are fruites of faithes eternal fauour,
Sweete to the soule, in euerliuing sauour.
Now in this grounde, doth liue this glorious King,
Of mercies life, amidde the fire of loue,
Who, as the sunne, doth cause the flowers to spring,
So, by his fire, makes faith her comfort proue:
When heauenly ruth doth vertues roote so nourish,
That, her faire flowers shall grow and euer floorish.
Now heere the herbes were wholsome sentences,
Which purge the hart, of euery idle thought:
And for each grasse, a grace of wit and sences,
By heauenly blessing from the spirit brought:
In midst whereof the well of life doth spring,
About the which the Angels sit and singe.
Heere is the light that makes the sunne to shine,
Heere is the brightnes of the morning light,
Heere is the sunne, that neuer doth decline,
Heere is the daie, that neuer hath a night,
Heere is the hope of euerliuing blisse,
And comforte, that beyonde all knowledge is.
Heere neuer weede, had euer power to growe,
Nor euer worme coulde make an herbe to wither,
But in the path, where all perfections goe,
Vertue and Nature, kindely went togither,
And heauenly dewes, did al the fruites so cherish,
That, neither fruit, nor herbe, nor flower could perish.
Heere neuer sorrow for the thought of losses,
Heere euer labour and yet neuer weary;
Heere neuer feare, of any fatal crosses,
Heere neuer mourning, and heere euer merry:
Heere neuer hunger, thurst, nor heat, nor cold,
But take enough, and stil the store doth holde.
Heere is the sky, the sun, the moone, and stars,
Set for a dial, by the heauens direction:
Heere neuer cloude their brightest shining barres,
But show their brightnes in their best perfection:
Heere, is in some the sweetest light of al,
From which al lightes haue their original.
Heere neuer foote of wicked pride presumed,
But is excluded heauenlie paradise:
Heere is the aier with sweetest sweetes prefumed,
While sinners sighes is blessed sacrifice:
When faithful soules in Angels armes embraced,
Are in the eie of glorious fauour graced.
Heere are the virgins playing, Angels singing
The Saintes reioicing, and the Martirs ioying.
Heere sacred comfortes to the conscience springing,
And no one thought of discontent anoying:
Heere hurt was none, and feare of death is neuer,
But heere is loue, and heere is life for euer.
Heere sorrowes teares, doe quenche the heate of Sinne.
And fire of loue, doth kindle life againe:
Heere doth the grounde of glory first beginne,
And heere is Vertue, in her highest vaine:
Heere, is in some the state of honours story,
And of all goodnes, the eternall glory.
And heere is, lo that heauenly paradise,
Whereto the pilgrime, made his pilgrimage:
Where sacred mercy first did solempnize,
The spirite to the fleshe in mariage:
And here the hart did finde his spirit blest,
To bring the sences to eternall rest.
Gloria in excelsis Deo.
In this true plot of reasons highest pleasure,
The heaunly court, of the high King of Kings:
Where sacred spirits, haue their speciall treasure
And sweetest comfort, of contentments springs:
God bring your sences, by your harts desire,
To feel the comfort of his kingly fier.
