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Yet doth not stay
To ask the window's leave to pass that way ;
Delicious death, soft exhalations
Of soul, dear and divine annihilations ;
A thousand unknown rites
Of joys and rarified delights ;
And many a mystic thing,
Which the divine embraces
Of the dear Spouse of spirits with them will bring ;
For which it is no shame
That dull morality must not know a name.

Of all this hidden store
Of blessings, and ten thousand more,
If when He come,
He find the heart from home,

Doubtless he will unload
Himself some other where;

And pour abroad
His precious sweets
On the fair soul whom first he meets.

O fair! O fortunate! O rich! O dear!

O! happy and thrice happy she,
Dear silver-breasted dove,

Whoe'er she be,
Whose early love
With winged vows
Makes haste to meet her morning spouse,
And close with his immortal kisses !
Happy soul! who never misses

To improve that precious hour;
And every day
Seize her sweet prey,
All fresh and fragrant as he rises,

Dropping with a balmy shower,
A delicious dew of spices.
Oh! let that happy soul hold fast

Her heavenly armful : she shall taste
• At once ten thousand paradises :
She shall have power
To rifle and deflower
The rich and roseal spring of those rare sweets,
Which with a swelling bosom there she meets,
Boundless and infinite, bottomless treasures
Of pure inebriating pleasures.
Happy soul! she shall discover

What joy, what bliss,

How many heavens at once it is To have a God become her lover.


I sing the Name which none can say
But touched with an interior ray;
The Name of our new peace our good
Our bliss and supernatural blood;
The Name of all our lives and loves :
Hearken, and help, ye holy doves!
The high-born brood of day; you bright
Candidates of blissful light,
The heirs-elect of love; whose names belong
Unto the everlasting life of song;
All ye wise souls, who in the wealthy breast
Of this unbounded Name build your warm nest.
A wake, my glory! soul, (if such thou be,
And that fair word at all refer to thee,)

Awake and sing,

And be all wing! Bring hither thy whole self, and let me see What of thy parent heaven yet speaks in thee.

Oh! thou art poor

Of noble powers, I see,
And full of nothing else but empty me

Narrow and low, and infinitely less
Than this great morning's mighty business.
One little world or two
Alas! will never do,
We must have store;
Go, soul, out of thyself and seek for more ;

Go, and request

Great nature for the key of her huge chest ;
Of heavens, the self-involving set of spheres,
(Which dull mortality more feels than hears.)

Then rouse the nest
Of nimble art, and traverse round
The airy shop of self-appeasing sound,
And beat a summons in the same
All sovereign Name,

To warn each several kind,
And shape of sweetness-be they such
As sigh with supple wind,

Or answer artful touch,
That they convene and come away,
To wait at the love-crowned doors of that illustrious day.

Wake, lute and harp,
And every sweet-lipped thing
That talks with tuneful string!
Start into life, and leap with me
Into a hasty, fit-tuned harmony.
Nor must you think it much

To obey my bolder touch ;
I have authority in love's name to take you,
And to the work of love this morning wake you.

Wake! in the name
Of Him who never sleeps, all things that are,
Or, what's the same,

Are musical;

Answer my call,
And come along;
Help me to meditate mine immortal song.

Come, ye soft ministers of sweet sad mirth!
Bring all your household stuff of heaven on earth.
Oh you my soul's most certain wings,
Complaining pipes, and prattling strings,
Bring all the store
Of sweets you have, and murmur that you have no more.

Come, ne'er to part,

Nature and art;
Come, and come strong
To the conspiracy of our spacious song.
Bring all the powers of praise
Your provinces of well-united worlds can raise;
Bring all your lutes and harps of heaven and earth,
Whate'er co-operates to the common mirth;
Vessels of vocal joys,
Or you, more noble architects of intellectual noise,
Cymbals of heaven, or human spheres,
Solicitors of souls or ears.
And when you are come with all
That you can bring or we may call,

Oh! may you fix
For ever here, and mix
Yourselves into the long .

And everlasting series of a deathless song.
Powers of my soul, be proud,
And speak aloud
To all the dear-bought nations this redeeming Name,
And in the wealth of one rich word proclaim

New similes to nature.
May it be no wrong,
Blest heavens, to you and your superior song,
That we dark sons of dust and sorrow
Awhile dare borrow
The name of your delights and our desires,
And fit it to so far inferior lyres.
Our murmurs have their music too,
Ye mighty orbs, as well as you ;

Nor yields the noblest nest
Of warbling seraphim to the ears of love

A choicer lesson than the joyful breast
Of a poor panting turtle-dove.
And we low worms have leave to do
The same bright business, ye third heavens! with you.
Gentle spirits, do not complain,

We will have care

To keep it fair,
And send it back to you again.
Come, lovely Name! appear from forth the bright
Regions of peaceful light;
Look from thine own illustrious home,
Fair King of names, and come:
Leave all thy native glories in their gorgeous nest,
And give Thyself awhile the gracious guest
Of humble souls that seek to find

The hidden sweets

Which man's heart meets
When Thou art master of the mind.
Come, lovely Name! life of our hope!
Lo, we hold our hearts wide ope!
Unlock thy cabinet of day,
Dearest sweet, and come away.
Lo, how the thirsty lands
Gasp for thy golden showers with long-stretched hands!

Lo, how the labouring earth
That hopes to be
All heaven by Thee,

Leaps at thy birth!
The attending world to wait thy rise,
First turned to eyes;
And then, not knowing what to do,
Turned them to tears, and spent them too.
Come, royal Name! and pay the expense
Of all thy precious patience :
Oh! come away,
And kill the death of this delay.

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