Prayer.

PRAGod's breath in man returning to his birth,

the Church's banquet, angels' age,

The foul in paraphrafe, heart in pilgrimage, The chriftian plummet founding heav'n and earth; Engine against th' Almighty, finner's tow'r,

Reverfed thunder, Chrift's fide-pierceing spear, The fix-days world tranfpofing in an hour, A kind of tune, which all things hear and fear; Softness, and peace, and joy, and love, and blis, Exalted manna, gladness of the best, Heaven in ordinary, man well dreft,

The milky way, the bird of paradife';

Church-bells beyond the ftars heard, the foul's blood,

The land of spices, fomething understood.

Holy Communion.

Noor in a wedge of gold,

[OT in rich furniture, or fine array,

Thou, who from me waft fold,
To me doft now thyself convey

For fo thou shouldft without me still have been
Leaving within me fin:

But by the way of nourishment and strength
Thou creep'ft into my breast ;

Making thy way my reft,

And thy fmall quantities my length; Which spread their forces into ev'ry part, Meeting fin's force and art.

Yet can these not get over to my foul,
Leaping the wall that parts

Our fouls and fleshly hearts;

But as th' out-works, they may controul My rebel-flesh, and carrying thy name, Affright both fin and shame.

Only thy grace, which with these elements comes, Knoweth the ready way,

And hath the privy key,

Op'ning the foul's most fubtil rooms: While those to spirits refin'd at door attend Difpatches from their friend.

GIVE me my captive foul, or take
My body alfo thither.

Another lift like this will make
Them both to be together.

Before that fin turn'd flesh to stone,
And all our lump to leaven;

A fervent figh might well have blown
Our innocent earth to heaven.

For fure when Adam did not know
To fin, or fin to fmother;

He might to heav'n from paradise go,
As from one room t' another.

Thou haft reftor'd ́us to this ease
By this thy heav'nly blood,

Which I can go to when I please,

And leave th'earth to their food.

Cho.

L

Ver.

Antiphon.

ET all the world in every corner fing,
My God and King.

The heavens are not too high,
His praise may thither fly :
The earth is not too low,
His praises there may grow.

Cho. Let all the world in every corner fing,

My God and King.

Ver.

The Church with pfalms must fhout,
No door can keep them out:

But above all, the heart

Muft bear the longest part.

Cho. Let all the world in every corner fing.

My God and King.

IM

Love.

PART I.

MMORTAL Love, Author of this great frame, Sprung from that beauty which can never fade; How hath man parcel'd out this glorious name, And thrown it on the dust which thou haft made, While mortal love doth all the title gain!

Which fiding with invention, they together Bear all the fway, poffeffing heart and brain, (Thy workmanship) and give thee Thare in neither.

Wit fancies beauty, beauty raiseth wit;

The world is theirs; they two play out the game, Thou standing by: And though thy glorious name Wrought our deliverance from th' infernal pit,

Who fings thy praise ? only a scarf or glove
Doth warm our hands, and make them write of love.

PART II.

MMORTAL heat, O let thy greater flame

IMMORTAL

Which fhall confume the world, first make it tame, And kindle in our hearts fuch true defires,

As may confume our lufts, and make thee way,
Then shall our hearts pant thee; then shall our brain
All her inventions on thine altar lay,

And there in hymns fend back thy fire again :

Our eyes

fhall fee thee, which before saw duft : Duft blown by wit, till that they both were blind : Thou shalt recover all thy goods in kind,

Who were diffeized by ufurping luft :

All knees fhall bow to thee; all wits fhall rife,
And praise him who did make and mend our eyes.

HO

The Temper.

OW fhould I praise thee, Lord! how should my
Gladly engrave thy love in steel,

If what my foul doth feel fometimes

My foul might ever feel!

(rhymes

Although there were some forty heav'ns, or more,

Sometimes I peer above them all;
Sometimes I hardly reach a fcore;

Sometimes to hell I fall.D VIRN

O rack me not to fuch a vak extent;
Those distances belong to thee:
The world's too little for thy tent,
A grave too big for me.

Wilt thou meet arms with man, that thou doft ftretch A crumb of duft from heav'n to hell?

Will great God measure with a wretch?

Shall he thy ftature spell ?

O let me, when thy roof my foul hath hid,
O let me rooft and neftle there:
Then of a finner thou art rid,
And I of hope and fear.

Yet take thy way; for fure thy way is best:
Stretch or contract me thy poor debtor:
This is but tuning of my breast,
To make the mufic better.

Whether I fly with angels, fall with duft,
Thy hands made both, and I am there.
Thy power and love, my love and trust
Make one place ev'ry where.

The Temper.

cannot be. Where is that mighty joy,

I Which juft now took up all my heart?

Lord! if thou must needs ufe thy dart,

Save that, and me, or fin, for both destroy.