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THE RAPTURE

the banner over thee. It is the best eloquence to speak to God in the same language he speakes to

us.

Come then, O Shunamite, slay mee with Flaggons, and comfort mee with Apples, for I am sicke of love: Kisse me with the kisses of thy mouth, for thy love is better than wine; Shew mee, O thou whom my soule loveth, where thou feedest, where thou lyest

at noone.

There with Solomon in a Canticle, and with David in a Psalme, let be the raptures of thy Soule, which as in a trance shall be caught up to heaven, as was Philip by the Spirit, or Ezechiel by the Angell. And with an Heroicall alacritie tempered with gracious humility, give up thy soule to God, and bid farewell to the world.

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Sing with Deborah, O my soule, thou hast marched valiantly; and say with David, Returne now, my soule, unto thy rest, for the Lord hath rewarded thee.

Dying Saint Steven, before his eyes were closed, had a facial sight of his Saviour, Videbat Deum per essentiam, looked steadfastly into the heaven; and saw the glory of God, and Jesus standing at the right hand of God. . . .

And now me thinkes I see him face to face, Visione illa beatifica, et jugiter revelatâ facie, Sponsi gloriam speculando, transformatur anima de claritate in claritatem: Audet et ipsa loqui,

Tota pulchra es amica mea.

Who is this that commeth from Edom, with red garments from Bozrah. I now behold the day spring

THE PILGRIM'S WAY

from on high come to visit mee. Say then to the North, Give; and to the South, Restore; and so come Lord Jesus, come quickly.

HENRY MONTAGU, EARL OF MANCHESTER

NEVER

O Come Quickly!

EVER weather-beaten sail more willing bent to shore,

Never tired pilgrim's limbs affected slumber more, Than my wearied sprite now longs to fly out of my troubled breast:

O come quickly, sweetest Lord, and take my soul to rest!

Ever blooming are the joys of Heaven's high Paradise, Cold age deafs not there our ears nor vapour-dims our eyes:

Glory there the sun outshines; whose beams the Blessed only see:

O come quickly, glorious Lord, and raise my sprite to Thee!

THOMAS CAMPION

G

The Pilgrim's Way

IVE me my scallop-shell of quiet,
My staff of faith to walk upon,

My scrip of joy, immortal diet,

My bottle of salvation,

THE PILGRIM'S WAY

My gown of glory, hope's true gage;
And thus I'll take my pilgrimage.
Blood must be my body's balmer ;

No other balm will there be given;
Whilst my soul, like quiet palmer,
Travelleth towards the land of heaven;
Over the silver mountains,

Where spring the nectar fountains—
Then will I kiss

The bowl of bliss,

And drink mine everlasting fill

Upon every milken hill.

My soul will be a-dry before;

But, after, it will thirst no more.

Even such is Time, that takes in trust
Our youth, our joys, our all we have,
And pays us but with earth and dust;

-Who in the dark and silent grave,
When we have wandered all our ways
Shuts up the story of our days;
But from this earth, this grave, this dust,
My God shall raise me up, I trust.

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