I Sing the Name which none can say
But touch't with an interiour Ray;
The name of our new Peace; our Good:
Our Blisse, 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 Brest
Of this unbounded Name build your warm Nest.
Awake, 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 Heav'n yet speaks in Thee.
O thou art Poor,
Of Noble Pow'rs, I see,
And full of nothing else but empty Me,
Narrow, and low, and infinitely less
Then this great Mornings mighty business.
One little World or two
(Alas) will never do;
We must have store.
Go, Soul, out of thy self, and seek for More,
Go and request
Great Nature for the Key of her huge Chest
Of Heav'ns, the self-involving Set of Sphears
(Which dull Mortality more feels then hears)
Then rouse the nest
Of nimble Art, and traverse round
The Airy shop of Soul-appeasing sound:
And beat a summons in the same
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
Shall we dare this, my Soul? we'l do't and bring
No other Note for't, but the Name we sing.
Wake Lute and Harp
And every sweet-lipp'd thing
That talks with Tuneful string;
Start into life, and leap with me
Into a hasty fit-tun'd harmony.
Nor must you think it much
T' 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,
Answer my Call
And come along;
Help me to meditate mine immortal Song.
Come, ye soft Ministers of sweet sad mirth,
Bring all your Houshold-stuff of Heav'n on Earth;
O you, my Soul•…s most certain Wings,
Complaining Pipes, and pratling strings,
Bring all the store
Of Sweets you have; and murmur that you have no more.
Come, ne'r to part,
Nature and Art!
Come; and come strong,
To the conspiracy of our spacious song.
Bring all the Pow'rs of Praise
Your Provinces of well-united Worlds can raise;
Bring all your Lutes and Harps of Heav'n and Earth;
What e'r cooperates to the common mirth
Vessels of vocal joys,
Or you, more Noble Architects of intellectual noise,
Cymballs of Heav'n, or Humane sphears,
Solliciters of Souls or Ears;
And when you are come, with all
That you can bring or we can call;
O may you fix
For ever here, and mix
Your selves into the long
And everlasting series of a deathless Song;
Mix all your many Worlds, above,
And loose them into One of Love.
Chear thee my Heart!
For thou too hast thy part
And place in the great Throng
Of this unbounded all-imbracing Song.
Pow'rs of my Soul, be proud!
And speak loud
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 Heav'ns, to you, and your Superior song,
That we, dark Sons of Dust and Sorrow,
A while dare borrow
The name of your Delights and our Desires,
And fit it to so farr inferior Lyres.
Our Murmurs have their Musick too,
Ye Mighty Orbs, as well as you,
Nor yields the Noblest nest
Of warbling Seraphim to the ears of Love,
A choicer Lesson then the joyful Brest
Of a poor panting Turtle-Dove.
And we, low Worms have leave to do
The same bright business (ye third Heav'ns) 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 thy self a while 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
Lo how the thirsty Lands
Gasp for thy golden showrs! with long stretch't hands:
Lo how the laboring Earth
That hopes to be
All Heaven by Thee,
Leaps at thy Birth.
Th' attending World, to wait thy Rise,
First turn'd to Eyes;
And then, not knowing what to do;
Turn'd them to Tears, and spent them too,
Come Royal Name; and pay th' expence
Of all this precious patience.
O come away
And kill the Death of this Delay.
O see, so many Worlds of barren years
Melted and Measur'd out in Seas of Tears.
O see the weary Lids of wakeful Hope
(Love's Eastern windows) all wide ope
With Curtains drawn,
To catch the Day-break of thy Dawn.
O dawn, at last, long-look't for day!
Take thine own wings and come away.
Lo, where aloft it comes! It comes, among
The conduct of adoring Spirits that throng
Like diligent Bees, and swarm about it.
O they are wise:
And know what Sweets are suck't from out it.
It is the Hive,
By which they thrive,
Where all their hoard of Honey lies.
Lo where it comes, upon the snowy Doves
Soft back; and brings a bosome big with Loves.
Welcome to our dark World, thou
Unfold thy fair Conceptions; and display
The Birth of our bright joys.
O thou compacted
Body of Blessings: Spirit of Souls extracted!
O dissipate thy spicy Powr's
(Cloud of condensed sweets) and break upon us
In balmy showrs;
O fill our senses, and take from us
All force of so prophane a Fallacy
To think ought sweet but that which smells of thee.
Fair, Flowry Name; in none but thee
And thy Nectareal fragrancy,
Hourly there meets
An universal Synod of all Sweets;
By whom it is defined Thus
That no Perfume
For ever shall presume
To pass for oderiferous,
But such alone whose sacred Pedigree
Can prove it self some kin (sweet name) to Thee.
Sweet Name, in thy each Syllable
A thousand Blest Arabias dwell;
A Thousand Hills of Frankincense;
Mountains of myrrh, and Beds of Spices,
And Ten thousand Paradises.
The Soul that tasts thee takes from thence
How many unknown Worlds there are
Of Comforts, which thou hast in keeping!
How many thousand Mercies there
In Pity's soft Lap lie a sleeping!
Happy he who has the Art
To awake them,
And to take them
Home, and lodge them in his Heart,
O that it were as it was wont to be!
When thy old friends of fire, all full of thee,
Fought against frowns with smiles; gave Glorious chase
To persecutions; and against the Face
Of Death and fiercest dangers, durst with brave
And sober pace march on to meet a Grave.
On their bold Brests about the World they bore thee
And to the Teeth of Hell stood up to teach thee,
In Center of their inmost souls they wore thee,
Where Racks and Torments striv'd in vain to reach thee.
Little, alas, thought they
Who tore the fair Brests of thy Friends,
Their Fury but made way
For thee; and serv'd them in thy Glorious ends.
What did their weapons but with wider pores
Inlarge thy flaming brested Lovers
More freely to transpire
That impatient fire
The heart that hides thee hardly covers,
What did their weapons but set wide the doors
I or thee: fair purple Doors, of Love's devising;
The Ruby windows which inrich't the East
Of thy so oft repeated Rising.
Each wound of theirs was thy new morning;
And reinthron'd thee in thy Rosy Nest,
With blush of thine own blood thy day adorning:
It was the wit of Love oreflow'd the bounds
Of Wrath, and made the way through all these wounds,
Welcome Dear, All-Adored Name!
For sure there is no Knee
That knows not thee.
Or if there be such Sons of shame,
Alas what will they do
When stubborn Rocks shall bow
And Hills hang down their Heav'n-saluting Heads
To seek for humble Beds
Of Dust, where in the bashful shades of night
Next to their own low Nothing they may lye,
And couch before the dazeling light of thy dread
They that by Love's mild dictate now
Will not adore the,
Shall then with just Confusion, bow
And break before thee.