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Those mercies which thy Mary found,
Though both my prayers and tears combine,
Oh! when thy last frown shall proclaimi
When the dread “Ite!,” shall divide
Oh! hear a suppliant heart, all crushed
CHORUS OF THE SHEPHERDS OF BETHLEHEM.
WELCOME ! all wonders in one sight,
Eternity shut in a span;
Heaven in Earth, and God in Man.
1 “ Depart thou.”
Welcome! though not to gold nor silk,
To more than Cæsar's birth-right is ; Two sister-seas of virgin-milk,
With many a rarely tempered kiss, That breathes at once both maid and mother, Warms in the one, cools in the other.
She sings thy tears asleep, and dips
Her kisses in thy weeping eye ; She spreads the red leaves of thy lips,
That in their buds yet blushing lie; She 'gainst those mother-diamonds tries The points of her young eagle eyes.
Welcome! though not to these gay flies,
Gilded i’ th' beams of earthly kings; Slippery souls in smiling eyes,
But to poor shepherds' homespun things ; Whose wealth's their flock, whose wit to be Well read in their simplicity.
Yet when young April's husband-showers
Shall bless the fruitful Maia's bed, We'll bring the firstfruits of her flowers,
To kiss thy feet, and crown thy head. To Thee, dread Lamb! whose love must keep The shepherds more than they their sheep.
To Thee, meek Majesty! soft King
Of simple graces, and sweet loves,
Each his pair of silver doves;
Oh! that it were as it was wont to be,
And to the teeth of hell stood up to teach Thee ;
Where racks and torments strived in vain to reach Thee.
And re-inthroned Thee in thy rosy nest.
Welcome, dear, all-adored name!
Or, if there be such sons of shame,
Will not adore Thee,
And break before Thee.
ON A PRAYER-BOOK SENT TO MRS. R.
Lo! here a little volume, but great book,
(Fear it not, sweet,
It is no hypocrite,)
It is love's great artillery,
You'll find it yields
More swords and shields
Only be sure
The hands be pure
Those of turtles, chaste and true,
Here is a friend shall fight for you.
Dear soul, be strong,
Mercy will come ere long,
Flowers of never-fading graces,
For worthy souls whose wise embraces Store up themselves for Him who is alone The spouse of virgins, and the virgin's Son.
But if the noble Bridegroom, when He come,
To gad abroad
To take her pleasure and to play,
Some slippery pair
Of false, perhaps as fair,
Doubtless some other heart
Will take possession of the sacred store
Words which are not heard with ears, (These tumultuous shops of noise,)
Effectual whispers, whose still voice The soul itself more feels than hears ;
Amorous languishments, luminous trances, Sights which are not seen with eyes,
Spiritual and soul-piercing glances,
Home to the heart, and sets the house on fire,