Poetical works (1908) :: :: University of Virginia Library

Fond Soul! is this
Thy way to bliss?
Grasp both the Indies, let thy mighty hand
The iron North, and golden South command;
Transcend the Moon,
Fasten thy Throne
Above the fixed stars: above expressions,
Above thy thought enlarge thy vast possessions;
Fond soul! all this
Cannot make up thy bliss.

II

All these are vain,
Full, but with pain:
All Creatures have their end to serve, not bless thee;
As Servants they may help, as Lords oppress thee.
They vex in getting,
Us'd, lost with fretting;
Can slaves advance, shades fill, can grief give rest?
That, which was curs'd for thee, can't make thee blest.
They all are vain,
And bring not bliss, but pain.

III

Fond Soul! thy birth
Is not of Earth,
Or Heav'n: thou Earth, and Heav'n it self survivest:
Though born in time, thou dying time out-livest.
They fail, deceive thee,
They age, dye, leave thee;
Soar up immortal spirit, and mounting fly
Into the arms of great Eternity;
Not Heav'n, or Earth,
He, he thy End, and Birth.

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Paraphrase in Verse upon...Ecclesiast[es] 2.

I

Oh I am tir'd, I faint, I swoon, I dye,
I travel all the world to find a station,
Where weary souls may safe, and happy lye,
I search for rest, feel but vexation;
I grope for substance, grasp but vanity;
I seek for life, and health, find death, damnation;
I meet approaching death, death to eschew:
Toyl'd with vain sweat, I wax old, to renew
My weary life: so spend, and hate what I pursue.

II

To Pleasures house I sail'd, and safe arriv'd
I lookt for Joy, but found a Bedlam there:
Into rich Mammons baggs, and Chests I div'd,
But saw them fill'd with grief, with care, and fear:
The Crown was but a Skep, where swarms are hiv'd
Of stinging thoughts; it wears me which I wear.
Has man no good? is't lost? or am I blind?
Who? who will point the way? or cleer my mind?
To find what I should seek, to seek that I may find?

III

Look as th' industrious Bee from flowr to flowr
Jumps lightly, visits all, but dwells in none:
Or as a sickly taste tries sweet, and sowre,
Runs through a World of dishes, finds not one
To please his curious Palate: has no power
To relish what it likes: this bit, that bone
Long'd for, and loath'd: thus my unquiet breast
In Earth, Seas, Ayer, Heav'n vainly seeks for rest:
But serving them is curst, and serv'd by them not blest.

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IV

Can rivers seek, find rest in restless Seas?
Can Ayer in stormy ayers quiet stay?
Can Heavens find in swiftest raptures ease?
Has only man no Centre? none to lay
His weary soul to rest? no place to ease
His boundless thoughts? Me thinks I see a ray,
A glorious beam break through Heav'ns Canopy;
Me thinks I hear a voice, Come Soul, and see,
Come; here, here lies thy rest; rest in my word, & me.

V

It is thy lovely voice, great Love, oh where,
Where, Lord of love, where should I seek to find thee?
In every place I see thy footsteps cleer,
Yet find thee not: what are the mists that blind me?
I know Lord where thou art, and seek thee there,
Yet there I find not: thee before, behind me,
On every side I see, yet seeing blind
I find not what I see: but heark (my mind)
He speaks again: Soul seek, seek thou, and I will find.

[The Search after God.]

Vast Ocean of light, whose rayes surround
The Universe, who know'st nor ebb, nor shore,
Who lend'st the Sun his sparkling drop, to store
With overflowing beams Heav'n, ayer, ground,
Whose depths beneath the Centre none can sound,
Whose heights 'bove heav'n, and thoughts so lofty soar,
Whose breadth no feet, no lines, no chains, no eyes survey,
Whose length no thoughts can reach, no worlds can bound,
What cloud can mask thy face? where can thy ray
Find an Eclipse? what night can hide Eternal Day?

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Our Seas (a drop of thine) with arms dispread
Through all the earth make drunk the thirsty plains;
Our Sun (a spark of thine) dark shadows drains,
Guilds all the world, paints earth, revives the dead;
Seas (through earth pipes distill'd) in Cisterns shed,
And power their liver springs in river veins.
The Sun peeps through jet clouds, and when his face, and gleams
Are maskt, his eyes their light through ayers spread,
Shall dullard earth bury life-giving streams?
Earths foggs impound heav'ns light? hell quench heav'nkindling beams?

How miss I then? in bed I sought by night,
But found not him in rest, nor rest without him.
I sought in Towns, in broadest streets I sought him,
But found not him where all are lost: dull sight
Thou canst not see him in himself: his light
Is maskt in light: brightness his cloud about him.
Where, when, how he'l be found, there, then, thus seek thy love:
Thy Lamb in flocks, thy Food with appetite,
Thy Rest on resting dayes, thy Turtle Dove
Seek on his cross: there, then, thus Love stands nail'd with love.

[The Beatific Vision.]

I

How is't, my soul, that thou giv'st eyes their sight
To view their objects, yet hast none
To see thine own?
Earths, ayers, Heav'ns beauties they discern; their light
Fair flowers admires; their several dresses,
Their golden tresses;
The Lilly, Rose, the various Tulip, scorning
The pride of Princes in their choice adorning.

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II

They joy to view the ayers painted Nations;
The Peacocks train, which th' head out vies
With fairer eyes,
And emulats the heav'nly constellations;
The Ostrich, whose fair plume embraves
Kings, Captains, Slaves;
The Halcions, whose Triton-bills appease
Curl'd waves, and with their Eggs lay stormy seas.

III

Pilots fixt eyes observe the Artick Bear,
With all her unwasht Starry trains
In Heav'nly plains.
Night-Travellers behold the Moon to steer
Her Ship, sailing (while Eol raves)
Through cloudy waves:
Our less Worlds sunns with pleasure view the light
Which gives all beauties beauty, them their sight.

IV

Thou that giv'st sight to clay, to blackness light
How art so dull, so dimm in duty
To view his beauty,
Who quickens every life, lights every light?
His height those Eagles eyes surpasses;
Thou wants thy glasses:
Take up that Perspective, and view those streams
Of light, and fill thy waning Orb with beams.

V

Then see the flowers clad in his Liveries,
And from his cheek, and lovely face
Steal all their grace.
See Fouls from him borrow their braveries,
And all their feather-painted dresses
From his fair tresses:
See Starrs, and Moon, the Sun, and all perfection
Beg light, and life from his bright eyes reflection.

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VI

Look on his lipps; heav'ns gate there open lies:
Thence that grace-breathing Spirit blows,
Thence honey flowes.
Look on his hands, the Worlds full treasuries;
Fix all thy looks his heart upon,
Loves highest Throne.
And when thy sight that radiant beauty blears,
And dazels thy weak eyes; see with thine ears.

[The Passage Perilous.]

No other passage? what? no way but this
Can bring my Pilgrim soul to rest, and bliss?
Proud Seas in Gyant waves 'gainst Heaven rise,
And casting mounts, fight with loud-thundring Skies,
Skies charge their double Cannons, and let fly
Their fires, and bullets; waters hizz, and fry.
How shall my tir'd Bark climb those mounts? how shall
It fall, and not than hell much deeper fall?
How shall a Potsheard stand one Volly? how
Shall glass cut through such storms, with brittle prow?
Were sails as wings to mount me o're those hills;
Who could secure me in those lesser rills?
Where Sirens fill the ear, and eye with wonder:
I more fear calm than storms, more songs than thunder.

Lend to the Latine Siren eyes, and ears,
Her face will seem an Angel, voice the Spheres.
The Belgian melts the soul with sugred strains,
Drops Wine, and loosness into swilling veins.
A third Gold, Plenty, Wealth, abundance sings:
And binds the captive ear with silver strings.
A fourth guilds all her notes with Thrones, and Crowns,
So Heav'n in earth, glory in honour drowns.
The last powrs honey from her pleasant Hive,
So stings, and kills, and buries men alive.

Lord steer my Bark: draw thou mine eye, and ear
From those vain frights, thy Word, and thee to fear.

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Lord tune my heart to hear (in Saintly throngs)
More musick in thy thunders, than their songs.

Make me to think in all these storms, and charms,

In Sirens notes, and thundring Worlds alarms,
Thy presence is my guard, my Port, thy Bed and arms.

[The Divine Lover.]

I

Me Lord? can'st thou mispend
One word, misplace one look on me?
Call'st me thy Love, thy Friend?
Can this poor soul the object be
Of these love-glances, those life-kindling eyes?
What? I the Centre of thy arms embraces?
Of all thy labour I the prize?
Love never mocks, Truth never lies.
Oh how I quake: Hope fear, fear hope displaces:
I would, but cannot hope: such wondrous love amazes.

II

See, I am black as night,
See I am darkness: dark as hell.
Lord thou more fair than light;
Heav'ns Sun thy Shadow: can Sunns dwell
With Shades? 'twixt light, and darkness what commerce?
True: thou art darkness, I thy Light: my ray
Thy mists, and hellish foggs shall pierce.
With me, black soul, with me converse.
I make the foul December flowry May,
Turn thou thy night to me: I'le turn thy night to day.

III

See Lord, see I am dead:
Tomb'd in my self: my self my grave.
A drudge: so born, so bred:
My self even to my self a slave.

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Thou Freedome, Life: can Life, and Liberty
Love bondage, death? Thy Freedom I: I tyed
To loose thy bonds: be bound to me:
My Yoke shall ease, my bonds shall free.
Dead soul, thy Spring of life, my dying side:
There dye with me to live: to live in thee I dyed.

[The Divine Offer.]

Behold, behold me: view, search every part:
Let beauty wooe thy eyes, thy eyes thy heart.
Thou dost, Lord, what thou speak'st; I somewhat see,
That I see nothing, nor my self, nor thee.
'Noint thee: what seest thou now? What tongue can tell?
In thee ten thousand heav'ns, in me an hell.
How lik'st thy self poor soul? how lik'st thou me?
Lord, I am dung, and all things dung to thee.
I made thee first, and come, now, new to make thee;
If then thou lik'st, stretch forth thy hand, and take me.
Take thee? Lord thou more rich than heav'n can make thee.
I poor; tak'st thou no portion but to take thee?
Lord I am naked, foul, thou can'st but loath me:
Ask'st thou no beauty but to cleanse, and cloath me?
Oh I am base: my self my self disdain:
Wilt thou no honour, but with thee to reign?
Is this thy whole demand, to leave mine own,
And take thee for my portion, beauty, Crown?
A glorious offer: madness to refuse it:
An easie choice: yet wretch I cannot chuse it.
Maim'd wretch! I see my bliss; yet, till thou make it,
I have no will to chuse, no hand to take it.
Let th' hand, which thee, which all thy glory proffers,
Give me an hand to take thy glorious offers.
Form, draw mine eyes; so shall I still behold thee;
Make, hold my hand: so shall I take, grasp, hold thee.

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[Israel's Yoke.]

I

A grievous, heavy Yoke! bonds! burthens! cords!
Ungrateful Israel! his happy reign
Heaps plentie, peace; mirth, safety, honour hords;
Lades you with gold; is this your load? your Lords
Turns to your slaves; are these the bonds ye[e] playn?
Tunes groanes to songs: is this your Yoke, and chain?
Was wisest Solomon a Tyrant? peace
Ungrateful Israel, thy false grumbling cease:
Thy wealth his grievous bond; his heavy Yoke thy peace.

II

Lord! Solomon was but thy shadow: he
A peaceful Prince, and thou the Prince of peace.
The world is Israels type, who (blinded) see
Freedom in bonds, and bonds in libertie.
Thee they proclaym an hard man, hard to please;
Thy easy, easing Yoke lades with disease:
But murthering Satan, lust the soul oppressing,
The cheating world, by pleasing most distressing,
These are their gentle Lords, their cursed Yokes their blessing.

III

Poor souls have you no eyes? your eyes no light?
These old eyes nothing see; see nothing true.
Get Perspectives; oh help your feeble sight;
Blind eyes make night as day, and day as night:
Turn to the light, and your old eyes renew.
Shake off hells spectacles, and better vieu
Your Lords, and service: had you light, and eyes,
How could you hate the truth, and love these lies?
Despise what you admire; admire what you despise.

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IV

Their Kings are servants; but his servants Kings.
Their rest an Iron Yoke; his Yoke your rest.
His wounds are salves: their salves are wounding stings.
His death brings life; their life death surely brings.
Their feast a pining fast: his fast a feast.
His servants blest when curst; theirs curst when blest.
Poor souls be wise: but if ye (fools) disdein
To serve this Lord in rest, serve those in payn.
Serve them in Hell, who scorn with him in Heaven to reign.

[God's Image in Man.]

I

Is this the Yoke which fools abhor, to be,
(Great Lord) made like to thee?
Is this a burthen? Cannot flesh indure
To be as thou art, pure?
Is this so scorn'd, so loathsome a condition?
Poor swinish soul! canst thou desire
To be an Hog? daub'd, cas'd in mire?
Is this the height of thy deep faln ambition?

II

This all the service which thou dost desire,
To wash me from my mire?
This all the burthen which thou laist upon me,
To set thy beautie on me?
That beautie, which those glorious Spirits viewing,
Are rapt in heavenly ecstasies,
Drink healths, and making drunk their eyes,
Sing, drencht in amorous joyes, thy praise renewing.

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III

How beauteous is thy house? thy spangled Court?
Yet to thy beautie durt.
How glorious is the Sun, the spring of light?
Yet to thy glory night.
How bright thy Angels in their spritely feature?
Yet to thy brightness smoke to fire.
How then should we (poor souls!) admire
Thy beautie, glory, brightness in thy creature.

IV

Oh what am I (my Lord!) without thy likeness,
But a dull dying sickness?
Stript of thy Image, and that God-like feature
I, less than any creature.
The meanest, sensless, liveless overgits me,
And goes beyond me; stones last longer,
Flowers are fairer, trees are stronger:
The beasts out-sense, the Divels self outwits me.

V

Let Swine then serve their muddy lusts, and ly
Mir'd in their stinking stie.
Doggs serve the ravening world, devour, be sick,
Spew, and their vomit lick.
But oh let me renew my first condition,
Conform'd unto thy glorious beautie
Serve thee in every holy dutie.
This my whole honour, this my sole ambition.

[The Light of Lights.]

Great Fount of light, whose overflowing streams
Lend stars their dimmer sparks, Suns brighter beams,
Thy mouth spoke light, thy hands at first did shed it
Along the skie, and through the ayer did spred it,

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So shadedst earth with curtains of the night,
And drewst those curtains to give days their light.
Then gathering all that scattered light, compactedst
In one vast burning Lamp, and strait enactedst
That all less lights should beg their borrowed beams,
And from that fountain fill their narrow streams:
So that more spiritual, and sacred ray
Which rising from thy mouth gave spirits day,
In those first ages had no certain sphere,
But breath'd by thee, shin'd forth from mouth to ear;
At length collected by thy gracious Spirit,
Fills all the world with light, with life, and spirit.
There I behold thy self, thy Lamb, and Dove,
Shining in grace, burning in heavenly love:
There I my death, and thine; thy power, my duty
See, and by seeing change into thy beautie.
Lord let thy light draw off my wandring eyes
From empty forms, and lying vanities;
Oh fix them on thy self, and make me see
(My Light!) in all things nothing, all in thee.
Thou boughtst me all, oh make me all thine own;
Be all in me, I all in thee alone.

[The Transfiguration of Man.]

I

Ayer of her self is dark, and hath no light
But what Heaven lends her, and when angry skies
Call in their debt, she sinks in dungeon night.
Nay while she borrowes light, oft foggs arise,
Or storms, and filch by stealth, or rob by might
Her lone: her day in youth, or childhood dies.
But while the present Suns with conquering ray
Dispel the shades, and their strong beams display,
She sparkles all with light, and broider'd gold-array.

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II

Such now is Man: inform, void, empty, dark,
A Chaos, dungeon, grave, a starless night:
Rake all his ashes up, ther's not a spark
To tine quencht life, or kindle buried light:
And what he steals from others, (empty shark!)
Hell with his mists depraves: so robbs him quite.
But when his Life, and Light shines in his eyes,
In him he lives as he, and never dies;
Glittring in light divine, he heaven, stars, Sun out-vies.

III

For as in earthly sight the bodies eye
(To the object bent) is like the object form'd;
So when the soul turn'd to the Deitie
Receives his likeness, it is soon transform'd
To what it sees: death, hell, and darkness fly,
And all the spirit to Light, and Life conform'd.
Soul of my soul! draw my souls eyes to thee;
Set them upon thy face; make me to be
By seeing Life, and Light, the Light, and Life I see.