The passions of the spirit

Canto. 5.

BVT can my heart thus leaue hir holy loue, Or seace to sing of this hir highest sweet? Hath Patience no more passions left to proue? Hath phancie laboured out both hands and feete? Or hath Inuention straind hir vaine so sore, That wit nor will hath power to write no more?

No, heauens forbid, that euer faithfull heart Should haue a weary thought of dooing well: But that the soule

may summon euery part Of euery sence, where any thought may dwell, That may discharge the dutie of this care, To pen his praise, that is without compare.

But since no eie can looke on him and liue, Nor heart can liue, but looking on his loue: Beehould the glory, that his grace doth giue, In all his works that doth such wonders proue. Than all the world may finde their witts to weake, But of the smallest of his praise to speake.

Behould the earth how sweetly shee brings foorth Hir trees, hir flowers, hir herbs, and euery grasse Of sundry natures, of most secret worth: And how each branch doth others beautie passe: Both beasts, and birds, with fishes, wormes, and flies, How each their high creator glorifies.

The Lions strength doth make him stand as king: The Vnicorne doth kill the poisons power: The roaring Bull doth make the woods to ring: The Tiger doth the cruell wolfe deuouer:

The Elephant, the weightie burden beares, And rauening Wolues, are good yet for their heires.

To see the Gray-hound course the Hart in chase, While litle Dormouse sleepeth out hir time. The Lambs and Rabits sweetly runne at base, Whilst highest trees the little Squirell clime. The crauling Wormes out creeping in the showers, And how the Snayle doe clyme the loftie towers.

To see the Whale make furrowes in the seas, While sodainely

the Dolphin strikes hir dead: Which hauing found the depth of his disease, Vpon the shore doth make his dying bed. Where heauens thus work for weaker hearts beehoue, Doth not this grace, a work of glory proue?

But since that all, Skye, Earth, or Sea containes, Was made for man, and man was onely made For onely God, who onely glory gaines, And that one glory that can neuer fade: Shall man forget to giue all glory due, Vnto his God

from whom all glory grew?

But let mee come a little higher yet, To Sunne and Moone and euery Starre of light: To see how each doe in this order sit, Where euery one doth keepe his course aright: And all to guide these darkned eies of ours, Giue these not glory to the higher powers?

No, let not man shew himselfe so vngratefull, Vnto his God, that all in loue did make him, By thancklesse thoughts to make his spirit hatefull,

Vnto his king that neuer will forsake him. But let his soule to God all glory giue, In whome, doth all loue, life, and glory liue.

And let mee wretch, (vnworthy most of all To lift mine eies vnto his louely seat,) Beefore the feete but of his mercy fall, And of his mercy but the leaue intreate: That with his seruants I may sit, and sing An ALLELVIAH to my heauenly King.