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Thus with glad sorrow did she sweetly plain her,

Upon his neck, a welcome load, depending;
While He with equal joy did entertain her,

Herself her champions highly all commending.
So all in triumph to his palace went,
Whose work in narrow words may not be pent;
For boundless thought is less than is that glorious tent..

There sweet delights, which know nor end nor measure;

No chance is there, nor dating times succeeding;
No wasteful spending can impair their treasure ;

Pleasure full-grown yet ever freshly breeding :
Fulness of sweets excludes not more receiving;
The soul still big with joy, yet still conceiving
Beyond slow tongue's report, beyond quick thought's perceiving.

There are they gone; there will they ever bide;

Swimming in waves of joy, and heavenly loving:
He still a bridegroom, she a gladsome bride;

Their hearts in love, like spheres, still constant moving.
No change, no grief, no age can them befall;
Their bridal bed is in that heavenly hall,
Where all days are but one, and only one is all.

And as in state they thus in triumph ride,

The boys and damsels their just praises chant :
The boys the bridegroom sing, the maids the bride,

While all the hills glad hymens loudly vaunt ;
Heaven's winged hosts, greeting this glorious spring,
Attune their higher notes and hymens sing:
Each thought to pass, and each did pass thought's loftiest wing.

Upon his lightning brow Love proudly sitting,

Flames out in power, shines out in majesty;
There all his lofty spoils and trophies fitting,

Displays the marks of highest Deity :
There full of strength, in lordly arms He stands,
And every heart and every soul commands:
No heart, no soul, his strength and lordly power withstands

Upon her forehead, thousand cheerful graces

Seated on thrones of spotless ivory;
There gentle Love his armed hand unbraces,

His bow unbent, disclaims all tyranny:
There by his play a thousand souls beguiles ;
Persuading more by simple modest smiles
Than ever he could force by arms, or crafty wiles.

Upon her cheek doth beauty's self implant

The freshest garden of her choicest flowers;
On which, if Envy might but glance askant,

Her eyes would swell and burst and melt in showers:
Thrice fairer, both, than ever fairest eyed,
Heaven never such a bridegroom yet descried;
Nor ever earth so fair, so undefiled a bride.

Full of his father shines his glorious face,

As far the sun surpassing in his light,
As doth the sun the earth his flaming blaze:

Sweet influence streaming from his quickening sight;
His beams from nought did all this all display;
And when to less than nought they fell away,
He soon restored again by his new orient ray.

All heaven shines forth in her sweet face's frame;

Her seeing stars (which we miscall bright eyes,)
More bright than is the morning's brightest flame,

More fruitful than the May-time geminies ;
These, back restore the timely summer's fire,
Those, springing thoughts in winter hearts inspire,
Inspiriting dead souls, and quickening warm desire.

These two fair suns in heavenly spheres are placed,

Where, in the centre, joy triumphing sits ;
Thus in all high perfections fully graced,

Her mid-day bliss no future night admits;
But in the mirrors of her spouse's eyes
Her fairest self she dresses; there where lies
All sweets, a glorious beauty to imparadise.

His locks, like raven's plumes, or shining jet,

Fall down in curls along his ivory neck;
Within their circlets hundred graces set,

And with love-knots their comely hangings deck.
His mighty shoulders, like that giant swain,
All heaven and earth, and all in both sustain;
Yet knows no weariness, nor feels oppressing pain.

Her amber hair like to the sunny ray,

With gold enamels fair the silver white;
There heavenly loves their pretty sportings play,

Firing their darts in that wide flaming light:
Her dainty neck, spread with that silver mould,
Where double beauty doth itself unfold
In its fair silver shrines, and fairer borrowed gold.

His breast a rock of purest alabaster,

Where Love's self sailing, shipwrecked often sitteth; Hers a twin-rock, unknown but to th’ ship-master,

Which harbours him alone, all other splitteth. Where better could her love than here have rested ? Or he his thoughts than here more sweetly feasted ? Than both their love and thoughts in each are ever rested.

Run, now, you shepherd swains, ah! run you thither,

Where this fair bridegroom leads the blessed way; And haste you lovely maids, haste you together,

With this sweet bride, while yet the sun shine day Guides your blind steps; while yet loud summons call, That every wood and hill resounds withal : “Come, Hymen, Hymen, come, drest in thy golden pall.”

The sounding echo back the music flung,

While heavenly spheres unto the voices played :
But lo! the day is ended with my song,

And sporting bathes with that fair ocean maid. Stoop now thy wing, my muse, now stoop thee low; Hence may’st thou then freely play, and rest thee now; While here I hang my pipe upon the willow-bough.

Was born in London, but the year of his birth is uncertain ; he was educated at the Charter-House, and took his degree at Cambridge, where he published his sacred poem of Steps to the Temple. He obtained a fellowship, but he was ejected from it for refusing to subscribe the Covenant. Soon after he went abroad, and conformed to the Roman Catholic faith. He died in Italy about 1650.

The Poems of Crashaw are less known than they ought to be; they display delicate fancy, great tenderness, and singular beauty of diction. They have been highly recommended by the best critics; Coleridge considered his verses, On a Prayer-Book, as one of the greatest poems in the language.

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HEAR'st thou, my soul, what serious things
Both the Psalm and Sybil sings,
Of a sure Judge, from whose sharp ray
The world in flames shall pass away?

O that fire! before whose face,
Heaven and Earth shall find no place ;
O these eyes ! whose angry light
Must be the day of that dread night.

O that trump! whose blast shall run
An even round with th' circling sun,
And urge the murmuring graves to bring
Pale mankind forth to meet his King.

Horror of nature, hell and death!
When a deep groan from beneath
Shall cry, “We come! we come!” and all
The caves of night answer one call.

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O that book! whose leaves so bright,
Will set the world in severe light:
O that Judge! whose hand, whose eye,
None can endure-yet none can fly.

Ah! thou poor soul, what wilt thou say?
And to what patron choose to pray?
When stars themselves shall stagger, and
The most firm foot no more than stand.

But thou givest leave, dread Lord, that we
Take shelter from Thyself in Thee;
And, with the wings of thine own dove,
Fly to the sceptre of soft love.

Dear Lord, remember in that day
Who was the cause Thou camest this way:
Thy sheep was strayed, and Thou would'st be
Even lost Thyself in seeking me.

Shall all that labour, all that cost
Of love, and even that loss, be lost ?
And this loved soul, judged worth no less
Than all that way and weariness?

Just mercy, then, thy reckoning be
With my price, and not with me;
'Twas paid at first with too much pain,
To be paid twice, or once in vain.

Mercy, my Judge, mercy I cry,
With blushing cheek, and bleeding eye :
The conscious colours of my sin,
Are red without, and pale within.

Oh! let thine own soft bowels pay
Thyself, and so discharge that day ;
If sin can sigh, love can forgive :-
Oh! say the word, my soul shall live.

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