I am my Beloveds, and his desire is towards me.
1
Like to, the Artick needle, that does guide
The wandring shade by his Magnetick pow'r,
And leaves his silken Gnomon to decide
The question of the controverted houre,
First franticks up and downe, from side to side,
And restlesse beats his christall'd Iv'ry case
With vaine impatience; jets from place to place,
And seeks the bosome of his frozen Bride,
At length he slacks his motion, and does rest
His trembling point at his bright Poles beloved Brest.
2
Ev'n so my soule, being hurried here and there;
By ev'ry object that resents delight,
Faine would be setled, but she knowes not where;
She likes at morning what she loathes at night:
She bowes to Honour; then, she lends an eare
To that sweet Swan-like voice of dying Pleasure,
Then tumbles in the scatter'd heapes of Treasure;
Now flatter'd with false hope; now, foyl'd with Feare
Thus finding all the worlds delights to be
But empty toyes, good GOD, she point's alone to Thee.
3
But has the virtu'd Steele a pow'r to move?
Or can the untouch'd Needle point aright?
Or can my wandring Thoughts forbeare to rove,
Unguided by the vertue of thy Spirit?
O has my leaden Soule the Art t'improvre
Her wasted Talent; and unrais'd, aspire
In this sad moulting time of her desire?
Not first belov'd have I the pow'r to love?
I cannot stirre, but as thou please to move me,
Nor can my heart returne thee love, untill thou love me.
4
The still Commandresse of the silent night
Borrowes her beames from her bright brothers Eye;
His faire Aspects fils her sharpe hornes with light,
If he withdraw, her flames are quench'd and die;
Ev'n so the beames of thy enlightning Sp'rite
Infus'd and shot into my dark desire,
Inflame my thoughts, and fill my soule with fire,
That I am ravisht with a new delight;
But if thou shrowd thy face, my glory fades,
And I remaine a Nothing, all compos'd of shades.
5
Eternall God, O thou that onely art
The sacred Fountaine of eternall light,
And blessed Loadstone of my better part,
O thou my hearts desire, my soules delight,
Reflect upon my soule; and touch my heart,
And then my heart shall prize no good above thee;
And then my soule shall know thee; knowing, love thee;
And then my trembling thoughts shall never start
From thy commands, or swerve the least degree,
Or once presume to move, but as they move in thee.
S. AUGUST. Med. Cap, 25.
If man can love man with so entire affection, that the one can scarce brooke
the others absence; If a Bride can be joyned to her Bride-groome with so great
an ardency of mind, that for the extremity of love she can enjoy no rest, nor
suffring his absence without great anxiety with what affection, with what
fervency ought the soule whom thou hast espoused by faith and compassion, to
love thee her true God and glorious Bridegroom?
