Yet not the lightest tone was heard For there was filence in the sky, O what is filence here below? And to the way-worn pilgrim here, More kindred seems that perfect peace, Than the full chaunts of joy to hear, From earthly agonies set free, Tired with the path too flowly trod, May such a filence welcome me Into the palace of my God. HEAVEN. ERE may the band that now in triumph fhines, And that (before they were invested thus) In earthly bodies carried heavenly minds, Pitch round about, in order glorious, Their sunny tents and houses luminous; All their eternal day in songs employing, Joying their end without end of their joying, While their Almighty Prince deftruction is destroying. Their fight drinks lovely fires in at their eyes, Their breath sweet incense with fine breath ac cloys, That on God's sweating altar burning lies; Their hungry ears feed on the heavenly noise That angels fing to tell their untold joys; Their understanding, naked truth, their wills, That nothing here is wanting but the want of ills. No sorrow now hangs clouding on their brow; No fear of death the joy of life devours; No unchafte fleep their precious time deflowers; No lofs, no grief, no change wait on their wingéd hours. But now their naked bodies scorn the cold, And from their eyes joy looks and laughs at pain; The infant wonders how he came so old, The old man how he came so young again; Still refting, though from sleep they still refrain ; Where all are rich, and yet no gold they owe; And all are kings, and yet no subjects know, All full, and yet no time they do on food beftow. About the holy city rolls a flood Of molten cryftal, like a sea of glafs, On which weak ftream a strong foundation ftood: That all things else, befides itself, did pass. On which soft ftreaming manna like pure snow did wave. It is no flaming luftre, made of light; No sweet consent, or well-tuned harmony; Ambrofia, for to feast the appetite; Or flowery odor mixed with spicery; No soft embrace or pleasure bodily: And yet it is a kind of inward feast, A harmony that sounds within the breast, An odor, light, embrace, in which the soul doth rest. A heavenly feast no hunger can consume; A light unseen, yet fhines in every place; A sound no time can fteal; a sweet perfume No winds can scatter; an entire embrace That no satiety can e'er unlace; Ingraced into so high a favor there, The saints with their beaupeers whole worlds outwear, And things unseen do see, and things unheard do hear. Ye bleffed souls, grown richer by your spoil, Whose lofs, though great, is cause of greater gains; Here may your weary spirits reft from toil, Spending your endless evening that remains Among those white flocks and celeftial trains That feed upon their Shepherd's eyes, and frame That heavenly mufic of so wondrous frame, Psalming aloud the holy honors of his naine ! Giles Fletcher. 1586-1623. 19 ON NEARER HOME. NE sweetly welcome thought, Comes to me o'er and o'er ; I'm nearer home to-day Than I've ever been before ; Nearer my Father's house Where the many manfions be; Nearer the Great White Throne, Nearer the Jasper Sea; Nearer that bound of life, Where we lay our burdens down— Nearer leaving the cross, Nearer gaining the crown. But lying dimly between, Winding down through the night, Lies the dark and uncertain ftream That leads us at length to the light. Closer and closer my steps Come to the dark abysm, Closer Death to my lips Preffes the awful chrism ; |