Sacred Poetry.

I.

STEPS TO THE TEMPLE

(1648),

AND

CARMEN DEO NOSTRO &c.

(1652).

SAINTE MARY MAGDALENE, OR THE WEEPER.[21]

Loe! where a wounded heart with bleeding eyes conspire.

Is she a flaming fountain, or a weeping fire?

THE WEEPER.[22]

I.

Hail, sister springs! 1 Parents of syluer-footed rills!

Euer-bubling things!

Thawing crystall! snowy hills Still spending, neuer spent! I mean 5 Thy fair eyes, sweet Magdalene!

II.

Heauens thy fair eyes be; Heauens of euer-falling starres.

'Tis seed-time still with thee; And starres thou sow'st, whose haruest dares 10 Promise the Earth, to counter-shine Whateuer makes heaun's forehead fine.

III.

But we' are deceiued all: Starres indeed they are too true; For they but seem to fall, 15 As heaun's other spangles doe: It is not for our Earth and vs To shine in things so pretious.

IV.

Vpwards thou dost weep: Heaun's bosome drinks the gentle stream. 20 Where th' milky riuers creep, Thine floates aboue, and is the cream.

Waters aboue th' heauns, what they be We' are taught best by thy teares and thee.

V.

Euery morn from hence, 25 A brisk cherub something sippes, Whose sacred influence Addes sweetnes to his sweetest lippes; Then to his musick; and his song Tasts of this breakfast all day long. 30

VI.

When some new bright guest Takes vp among the starres a room, And Heaun will make a feast: Angels with crystall violls come _phials_ And draw from these full eyes of thine, 35 Their Master's water, their own wine.

VII.

The deaw no more will weep The primrose's pale cheek to deck: The deaw no more will sleep Nuzzel'd in the lilly's neck; 40 Much rather would it be thy tear, And leaue them both to tremble here.

VIII.

Not the soft gold which Steales from the amber-weeping tree, Makes Sorrow halfe so rich 45 As the drops distil'd from thee.

Sorrowe's best iewels lye in these Caskets, of which Heaven keeps the keyes.

IX.

When Sorrow would be seen In her brightest majesty: 50 (For she is a Queen): Then is she drest by none but thee.

Then, and only then, she weares Her proudest pearles: I mean, thy teares.

X.

Not in the Euening's eyes, 55 When they red with weeping are For the Sun that dyes; Sitts Sorrow with a face so fair.

Nowhere but here did ever meet Sweetnesse so sad, sadnesse so sweet. 60

XI.

Sadnesse all the while Shee sits in such a throne as this, Can doe nought but smile, Nor beleeves she Sadnesse is: Gladnesse it selfe would be more glad, 65 To bee made soe sweetly sad.

XII.

There's no need at all, That the balsom-sweating bough So coyly should let fall His med'cinable teares; for now 70 Nature hath learnt to' extract a deaw More soueraign and sweet, from you.