|
THE |
PROGRESS |
OF THE SOUL. |
|
First Song. |
|
I. |
|
I Sing the progress of a deathless soul, |
Whom Fate, which God made, but doth not controul, |
Plac'd in most shapes; all times before the law |
Yoak'd us, and when, and since, in this I sing, |
And the great world t'his aged evening, |
From infant morn, through manly noon I draw, |
What the gold Chaldee, or silver Persian saw, |
Greek brass, or Roman iron, 'is in this one; |
A work to out-wear Seths pillars, brick and stone, |
And (holy writ excepted) made to yeeld to none. |
|
II. |
|
Thee, eye of Heaven, this great Soul envies not, |
By thy male force, is all we have begot. |
In the first East, thou now beginst to shine, |
Suck'st early balm, and Iland spices there, |
And wilt anon in thy loose-rein'd careere |
At Tagus, Po, Sene, Thames, and Danow dine, |
And see at night thy Western land of Mine,
|
[CW: Yet] |