Her gates in equall distance be,
And each a glistering margarite,
Which commers in farre off may see-
A gladsome and a glorious sight.
Her sunne doth neuer 'clipse nor cloude;
Her moone doth neuer wax nor wane :
The Lambe with light hath her endued,
Whose glory pen cannot explaine.
The glorious saintes her dwellers be,
In numbers more than men can thinke; So many in a company,
As loue in likenes doth them linke.
The starres in brightnes they surpasse;
In swiftnes, arrowes from a bowe;
In strength, in firmnes, steele or brasse;
In brightnes, fire; in whitenes, snow.
Theyr cloathing are more softe then silke,
With girdles gilt of beaten golde;
They in their hands, as white as milke,
Of palme triumphant branches holde.
Theyr faces, shining like the sunne,
Shoot forth their glorious gladsome beames:
The field is fought; the battle won;
Their heads be crowned with diademes.
Reward as vertue different is;
Distinct their ioyes and happines;
But each in ioy of other's blisse,
Doth as his owne the same possesse.
So each in glory doe abound,
And all their glories doe excell:
But where as all to each redound,
Who can th' exceeding glory tell?
Triumphant warriers you may heare,
Recount their daungers which doe cease;
And noble citizens euerywhere,
Their happy gaines of ioy and peace.
The King that heauenly pallace rules,
Doth beare vpon his golden shield
A crosse in signe of tryumph, gules,
Erected in a uerdant field.
His glory such as doth behoue
Him in his manhood for to take,
Whose Godhead earth and heauen aboue,
And all that dwell therein, did make.
Like friends, all partners are in blisse,
With Christ their Lord and Master deare,
Like spouses they the bridegroome kisse;
Who feasteth them with heauenly cheare;
With tree of life, and manna sweete,
Which taste doth such a pleasure bring,
As none to judge thereof be meete,
But they which banquet with the King.
With cherubins their wings they mooue,
And mount in contemplation hye;
With seraphins they burne in loue,
The beames of glory be so nygh.
O sweet aspect; vision of peace;
Happy regard and heauenly sight;
O endless ioy without surcease;
Perpetuall day which hath no night!
O well of weale; fountaine of life;
A spring of euerlasting blisse;
Eternal sunne; resplendant light;
And eminent cause of all that is!
Riuer of pleasure; sea of delight;
Garden of glory euer greene;
O glorious glasse, and mirrour bright,
Wherein all truth is clearly seene!
O princely pallace, royall court;
Monarchall seate; emperiall throne!
Where King of kings, and Soueraigne Lord,
For euer ruleth all alone:
Where all the glorious saints doe see
The secrets of the Deity;
The Godhead one, in persons three,
The super-blessed Trinity.
The depth of wisdome most profound,
All puisant high sublimity;
The breadth of loue without all bound,
In endlesse long eternity.
The heauy earth belowe by kinde
Alone ascends the mounting fire:
Be this the centor of my minde,
And lofty spheare of her desire.
The chafed deare doth take the foyle;
The tyred hare the thickes and wood:
Be this the comfort of my toyle,
My refuge, hope, and soueraigne good.
The merchant cuts the seas for gaine;
The soldier serueth for renowne;
The tyllman plowes the ground for graine;
Be this my ioy and lasting crowne.
The faulkner seekes to see a flight:
The hunter beates to view the game:
Long thou, my soule, to see this sight,
And labour to enjoy the same.
No one's without some one delight,
Which he endeauours to attaine:
Seeke thou, my soule, both day and night,
This one, which euer shall remaine.
This one containes all pleasures true-
All other pleasures be but vaine :
Bid thou the rest, my soule, adue,
And seeke this one alone to gaine.
Go count the grass vpon the ground,
Or sandes that lye vpon the shore;
And when yee haue the number found,
The ioyes hereof be many more.
More thousand, thousand yeares they last,
And lodge within the happy mynde;
And when so many yeares be past,
Yet more and more be still behinde.
Farre more they be than we can weene;
They doe our iudgment much excell:
No ear hath heard, or eye hath seene:
No pen can write, no tongue can tell.
An angel's tongue cannot recyte
The endless ioy of heauenly blisse;
Which, being wholly infinite,
Beyond all speech and writing is.
We can imagine but a shade;
It neuer entred into thought,
What ioys he hath enioyed, that made
All ioys, and them that ioy, of nought.
My soule cannot these ioys contayne;
Let her, Lord, enter into them,
For euer with thee to remayne,
Within thy towne, Ierusalem!
ILL it no pleasure be,
When faith shall end in knowing,
Hope to fruition growing,
The Saviour's face to see?
To learn from Him the story,
What vict'ries won our glory-
Will this no pleasure be?
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