The Song of Mary the Mother of Christ Containing the story of his life and passion. The teares of Christ in the garden: With The description of heauenly Ierusalem |
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Another on the same subiect. |
 | The Song of Mary the Mother of Christ |  |
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Another on the same subiect.
Ierusalem
my happy home,
when shall I come to thee:
When shall my sorrows haue an end,
thy ioyes when shall I see?
when shall I come to thee:
When shall my sorrows haue an end,
thy ioyes when shall I see?
O happy Citty of the Saintes!
ô sweet and pleasant soyle!
In thee no sorrow may be found,
no griefe, no care, no toyle.
ô sweet and pleasant soyle!
In thee no sorrow may be found,
no griefe, no care, no toyle.
There is no dampe nor foggy mist,
no clowde nor darksome night:
There, euery Saint shines like the Sunne,
there, God himselfe giues light.
no clowde nor darksome night:
There, euery Saint shines like the Sunne,
there, God himselfe giues light.
In thee no sicknes may be found,
no hurt, no ache, no fore:
In thee there is no dread of death,
There's life for euermore.
no hurt, no ache, no fore:
In thee there is no dread of death,
There's life for euermore.
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There is no raine, no sleete, no snow,
no filth may there be found:
There is no sorrow, nor no care,
all ioy doth there abound.
no filth may there be found:
There is no sorrow, nor no care,
all ioy doth there abound.
Ierusalem my happy home,
When shall I come to thee:
VVhen shall my sorrowes haue an end,
Thy ioyes when shall I see.
When shall I come to thee:
VVhen shall my sorrowes haue an end,
Thy ioyes when shall I see.
Thy walles are all of precious stones,
thy streetes paued with golde:
Thy gates are eke of precious pearle,
most glorious to beholde.
thy streetes paued with golde:
Thy gates are eke of precious pearle,
most glorious to beholde.
Thy Pinacles and Carbuncles,
with Diamondes doe shine:
Thy houses couered are with golde,
most perfect, pure and fine.
with Diamondes doe shine:
Thy houses couered are with golde,
most perfect, pure and fine.
Thy gardens and thy pleasant walkes,
continually are greene:
There growes the sweet and fairest flowers
that euer erst was seene.
continually are greene:
There growes the sweet and fairest flowers
that euer erst was seene.
There, Sinamon, there, Ciuet sweet,
there, Balme springs from the ground:
No tongue can tell, no heart conceiue,
the ioyes that there abound.
there, Balme springs from the ground:
No tongue can tell, no heart conceiue,
the ioyes that there abound.
Thy happy Saints (Ierusalem)
doe bathe in endlesse blisse:
None but those blessed soules, can tell
how great thy glory is.
doe bathe in endlesse blisse:
None but those blessed soules, can tell
how great thy glory is.
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Throughout thy streetes with siluer streames,
the flood of life doth flowe;
Vpon whose bankes, on euery side,
the wood of life doth growe.
the flood of life doth flowe;
Vpon whose bankes, on euery side,
the wood of life doth growe.
Those trees doe euermore beare fruite,
and euermore doe spring:
There, euermore the Saints doe sit,
and euermore doe sing.
and euermore doe spring:
There, euermore the Saints doe sit,
and euermore doe sing.
There Dauid stands with Harpe in hand,
as Master of the Quire:
Ten thousand tymes that man were blest,
that might his musique heare.
as Master of the Quire:
Ten thousand tymes that man were blest,
that might his musique heare.
Our Lady sings Magnificat,
with tune surpassing sweet:
And all the Virgins beare their parts,
sitting about her feete.
with tune surpassing sweet:
And all the Virgins beare their parts,
sitting about her feete.
Te deum doth Saint Ambrose sing,
Saint Augustine the like:
Olde Simeon and good Zacharie,
haue not their songs to seeke.
Saint Augustine the like:
Olde Simeon and good Zacharie,
haue not their songs to seeke.
There Magdalen hath lost her moane,
and she likewise doth sing
With happy Saints, whose harmony
in euery streete doth ring.
and she likewise doth sing
With happy Saints, whose harmony
in euery streete doth ring.
There all doe liue in such delight,
such pleasure and such play:
That thousand thousand yeares agoe,
doth seene but yesterday.
such pleasure and such play:
That thousand thousand yeares agoe,
doth seene but yesterday.
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Ierusalem my happy home,
when shall I come to thee:
When shall my sorrowes haue an end,
thy ioyes when shall I see?
when shall I come to thee:
When shall my sorrowes haue an end,
thy ioyes when shall I see?
FINIS.
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