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Bosworth-field

With a Taste of the Variety of Other Poems, Left by Sir John Beaumont ... Set Forth by his Sonne, Sir Iohn Beaumont
 

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On Ascension day.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 


64

On Ascension day.

Ye that to heau'n direct your curious eyes,
And send your minds to walk the spacious skies,
See how the Maker to your selues you brings,
Who sets his noble markes on meanest things:
And hauing Man aboue the Angels plac'd,
The lowly Earth more then the Heau'n hath grac'd.
Poore Clay, each Creature thy degrees admires;
First, God in thee a liuing Soule inspires,
Whose glorious beames hath made thee farre more bright
Then is the Sunne, the spring of corp'rall light:
He rests not here, but to himselfe thee takes,
And thee diuine by wondrous vnion makes.
What Region can afford a worthy place
For his exalted Flesh? Heau'n is too base,
He scarce would touch it in his swift ascent,
The Orbes sled backe (like Iordan) as he went:
And yet he daign'd to dwell a while on earth,
As paying thankefull tribute for his birth:
But now this body all Gods workes excels,
And hath no place, but God, in whom it dwels.