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Lett Mans Soule bee a Sphere, and then in this The Intelligence that moues, Deuotion is. And as the other Sphers by being growne Subiect to forreine Motions, loose their owne: And beinge by others hurried every daie, Scarce in a yeare ther Naturall forme obaie Pleasure or businesse, so our Soules admitt For their first Mouer, and are Whirld by itt. Hence ist that I am caryed towards the West This daie when my Soules forme bends toward the East. There I should see A Sun by rising sett, And by that setting endles daie begett, But that Christ, an this Crosse did rise and fall, Sinne had Eternally benighted all: Yet dare I allmost bee gladd I doe not see That Spectakle of too mvch waight for mee. Who sees Gods face, that is selfe life mvst die. What a death were itt then to see, God die? Itt made his owne Liuetenant, Nature shrinke, Itt made his footestoole crack; and the Sun wincke Could I behold those hands which span the Poles, And turne all Spheres att once piercd with those holes Could I behold that endlesse height which is Zenith to vs, and to our Antipodis, Humbled below vs? Or that blood which is The seat of all our Soules if not of his. Make durt of dust, or that flesh which was worne By God for his Apparrell, Ragd, and torne? |
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