Pia Desideria or, Divine Addresses, In Three Books. Illustrated with XLVII. Copper-Plates. Written in Latin by Herm. Hugo. Englished by Edm. Arwaker ... The Fourth Edition, Corrected |
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217
XII.
When shall I come and appear before the presence of God?
Psal. lxii. 2.
With
promis'd Joys my Ears thou oft did'st fill,
But they are only Joys of Promise still.
Did'st thou not say thou soon wou'dst call me home?
Be just, my Love, and kindly bid me come!
“Expecting Lovers count each Hour a Day,
“And Death to them's less dreadful than Delay.
A tedious train of Months and Years is gone,
Since first you bid me hope, yet gave me none.
Why with delays dost thou abuse my Love,
And fail my vain Expectancies above?
While thus th'insulting Crowd derides my Woe,
Where's now your Love? how well he keeps his Vow?
But they are only Joys of Promise still.
Did'st thou not say thou soon wou'dst call me home?
Be just, my Love, and kindly bid me come!
“Expecting Lovers count each Hour a Day,
“And Death to them's less dreadful than Delay.
A tedious train of Months and Years is gone,
Since first you bid me hope, yet gave me none.
Why with delays dost thou abuse my Love,
And fail my vain Expectancies above?
While thus th'insulting Crowd derides my Woe,
Where's now your Love? how well he keeps his Vow?
Haste then, and home thy longing Lover take;
If not for mine, yet for thy Promise sake.
If not for mine, yet for thy Promise sake.
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When shall I come before thy Throne, and see
Thy glorious Scepter kindly stretch'd to me?
For Thee I pine, for Thee I am undone,
As drooping Flow'rs that want their Parent Sun.
O cruel Tort'rer of my wounded Soul,
Grant me thy Presence, and I shall be Whole!
O when, thou Joy of all admiring Eyes,
When shall I see thee on thy Throne of Bliss?
Thy glorious Scepter kindly stretch'd to me?
For Thee I pine, for Thee I am undone,
As drooping Flow'rs that want their Parent Sun.
O cruel Tort'rer of my wounded Soul,
Grant me thy Presence, and I shall be Whole!
O when, thou Joy of all admiring Eyes,
When shall I see thee on thy Throne of Bliss?
As when unwelcom Night begins its sway,
And throws its sable Mantle o'er the Day;
The withering Glories of the Garden fade,
And weeping Groves bewail their lonely shade;
To melancholy Silence Men retire,
And no sweet Note sounds from the feather'd Quire:
But hardly can the rising Morn display
The purple Ensigns of approaching Day;
But the glad Gardens deck themselves anew,
And the cheer'd Groves shake off their heavy Dew:
To daily Labour Man himself devotes,
And Birds in Anthems strain their tuneful Throats.
So without Thee, I Grieve, I Pine, I Mourn;
So Triumph, so Revive at Thy Return.
But Thou, unkind, bid'st me delight my Eyes
With other Beauties, other Rarities.
Sometimes thou bid'st me mark the flow'ry Field;
What various scent and shews the Meadows yield;
Then to the Stars thou dost direct my Sight,
For they from Thine derive their borrow'd Light.
Then sayst, Contemplate Man! in Him thou'lt see
The great Resemblance of thy Love and Me.
Why wou'dst thou thus deceive me with a Shade,
A trifling Image, that will quickly fade?
My Fancy stoops not to a mortal Aim,
Thou, thou hast kindled, and must quench my Flame.
And throws its sable Mantle o'er the Day;
The withering Glories of the Garden fade,
And weeping Groves bewail their lonely shade;
To melancholy Silence Men retire,
And no sweet Note sounds from the feather'd Quire:
But hardly can the rising Morn display
The purple Ensigns of approaching Day;
But the glad Gardens deck themselves anew,
And the cheer'd Groves shake off their heavy Dew:
To daily Labour Man himself devotes,
And Birds in Anthems strain their tuneful Throats.
So without Thee, I Grieve, I Pine, I Mourn;
So Triumph, so Revive at Thy Return.
But Thou, unkind, bid'st me delight my Eyes
With other Beauties, other Rarities.
219
What various scent and shews the Meadows yield;
Then to the Stars thou dost direct my Sight,
For they from Thine derive their borrow'd Light.
Then sayst, Contemplate Man! in Him thou'lt see
The great Resemblance of thy Love and Me.
Why wou'dst thou thus deceive me with a Shade,
A trifling Image, that will quickly fade?
My Fancy stoops not to a mortal Aim,
Thou, thou hast kindled, and must quench my Flame.
O glorious Face, worthy a Pow'r Divine,
Where Love and Awe with equal Mixture shine!
Triumphant Majesty of that bright Ray
Where blushing Angels prostrate Homage pay!
We in thy Works thy fix'd Impressions trace,
Yet still but faint Reflections of thy Face.
When this inchanted World's compar'd with Thee,
Its boasted Beauty's all Deformity:
Thy Stars no such transcending Glories own
As Thine, whose Light exceeds all theirs in one.
This Truth some one of them can best declare,
Who on the Mount thy blest Spectators were:
Who on Thy Glories were allow'd to gaze,
And saw Heav'n open'd in Thy wondrous Face.
Thy shining Visage all the God confest,
In beauteous Lambent Flames were thy bright Temples drest.
Where Love and Awe with equal Mixture shine!
Triumphant Majesty of that bright Ray
Where blushing Angels prostrate Homage pay!
We in thy Works thy fix'd Impressions trace,
Yet still but faint Reflections of thy Face.
When this inchanted World's compar'd with Thee,
Its boasted Beauty's all Deformity:
Thy Stars no such transcending Glories own
As Thine, whose Light exceeds all theirs in one.
This Truth some one of them can best declare,
Who on the Mount thy blest Spectators were:
Who on Thy Glories were allow'd to gaze,
And saw Heav'n open'd in Thy wondrous Face.
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In beauteous Lambent Flames were thy bright Temples drest.
Nor can we blame thy great Apostle's Zeal,
To whom thou did'st that happy Sight reveal;
That slighting all before accounted dear,
He was for building Tabernacles here.
Yet he beheld Thee then within a Veil,
The killing Rays thou kindly did'st conceal:
He saw a milder Flame thy Face surround,
Thy Temples with rebated Glories Crown'd:
As when the Silver Moon's reflected Beams,
In some clear Evening gild the smiling Streams:
Or cloud-born Lightning in its nimble Race
Paints on a trembling Wave Heav'ns blushing Face.
How had he wondred at the nobler Light,
Whose bare Reflection was so Heav'nly bright?
But, oh! That's inaccessible to humane Sight!
Then me, oh! me to that blest State receive,
Where I may see thee all, and seeing live!
When will that happy Day of Vision be,
When I shall make a near approach to Thee,
Be wrapt in Clouds, and lost in Mystery?
To whom thou did'st that happy Sight reveal;
That slighting all before accounted dear,
He was for building Tabernacles here.
Yet he beheld Thee then within a Veil,
The killing Rays thou kindly did'st conceal:
He saw a milder Flame thy Face surround,
Thy Temples with rebated Glories Crown'd:
As when the Silver Moon's reflected Beams,
In some clear Evening gild the smiling Streams:
Or cloud-born Lightning in its nimble Race
Paints on a trembling Wave Heav'ns blushing Face.
How had he wondred at the nobler Light,
Whose bare Reflection was so Heav'nly bright?
But, oh! That's inaccessible to humane Sight!
Then me, oh! me to that blest State receive,
Where I may see thee all, and seeing live!
When will that happy Day of Vision be,
When I shall make a near approach to Thee,
Be wrapt in Clouds, and lost in Mystery?
'Tis true, the Sacred Elements impart
Thy virtual Presence to my faithful Heart;
But to my Sense still unreveal'd thou art.
This, tho' a great, is an imperfect Bliss,
T'embrace a Cloud for the bright God I wish;
My Soul a more exalted Pitch wou'd fly,
And view Thee in the heights of Majesty.
Thy virtual Presence to my faithful Heart;
But to my Sense still unreveal'd thou art.
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T'embrace a Cloud for the bright God I wish;
My Soul a more exalted Pitch wou'd fly,
And view Thee in the heights of Majesty.
Oh! when shall I behold Thee all serene,
Without one envious Cloud, or Veil between?
When distant Faith shall in near Vision cease,
And still my Love shall with my Sight increase?
That happy Day dear as these Eyes shall be,
And more than all the dearest Things, but Thee.
Without one envious Cloud, or Veil between?
When distant Faith shall in near Vision cease,
And still my Love shall with my Sight increase?
That happy Day dear as these Eyes shall be,
And more than all the dearest Things, but Thee.
If thou findest any thing better than to behold the Face of God, haste thee thither. Wo be to that Love of thine, if thou dost but imagine any thing more beautiful than He, from whom all Beauty that delights thee is derived.
Aug. in Psal. 42.
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