Oh that a star, more fit for angels' eyes,
Should pine in earth, not shine above the skies!

Thy ghostly beauty offer'd force to God;

It chained Him in links of tender love; It won His will with man to make abode ; It stay'd His sword, and did His wrath remove : It made the vigour of His justice yield, And crowned Mercy empress of the field.

This lull'd our heavenly Samson fast asleep,
And laid Him in our feeble nature's lap;
This made Him under mortal load to creep,
And in our flesh His Godhead to enwrap;
This made Him sojourn with us in exile,
And not disdain our titles in His style.

This brought him from the ranks of heavenly quires
Into this vale of tears and cursèd soil;

From flowers of grace into a world of briers,
From life to death, from bliss to baleful toil.
This made Him wander in our pilgrim weed,
And taste our torments to relieve our need.

O soul! do not thy noble thoughts abase,
To lose thy loves in any mortal wight;
Content thy eye at home with native grace,
Sith God himself is ravish'd with thy sight;

If on thy beauty God enamour'd be,
Base is thy love of any less than He.

THE EPIPHANY.

To blaze the rising of this glorious sun,

A glittering star appeareth in the east, Whose sight to pilgrim toils three sages won

To seek the light they long had in request; And by this star to nobler star they pass, Whose arms did their desirèd sun embrace.

Stall was the sky wherein these planets shined, And want the cloud that did eclipse their rays; Yet through this cloud their light did passage find, And pierced these sages' hearts by secret ways, Which made them know the Ruler of the skies, By infant's tongue and looks of babish eyes.

Heaven at her light, earth blusheth at her pride,
And of their pomp these peers ashamed be;
Their crowns, their robes, their trains they set aside,
When God's poor cottage clouts and crew they see;
All glorious things their glory now despise,
Sith God contempt doth more than glory prize.

Three gifts they brought, three gifts they bear away;
For incense, myrrh, and gold, faith, hope, and love;
And with their gifts the givers' hearts do stay,
Their mind from Christ no parting can remove;
His humble state, his stall, his poor retinue,
They fancy more than all their rich revenue.

SEEK FLOWERS OF HEAVEN.

SOAR up, my soul, unto thy rest,
Cast off this loathsome load ;
Long is the death of thine exile,
Too long thy strict abode.

Graze not on worldly wither'd wood,
It fitteth not thy taste;
The flowers of everlasting spring

Do grow for thy repast.

Their leaves are stain'd in beauty's dye,
And blazed with her beams,

Their stalks enamell'd with delight,
And limn'd with glorious gleams.

Life-giving juice of living love
Their sugar'd veins doth fill,
And water'd with eternal showers
They nectar'd drops distil.

These flowers do spring from fertile soil,
Though from unmanured field;
Most glittering gold in lieu of glebe,
These fragrant flowers do yield.

While sovereign scent surpassing sense
So ravisheth the mind,

That worldly weeds needs must he loathe
That can these flowers find.

Crashaw.

[B. 1615.-D. 1650.]

HYMN TO THE NAME OF JESUS.

I SING the Name which none can say,
But touch'd with an interior ray,—
The Name of our new peace; our good;
Our bliss, 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 breast 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 heaven yet speaks in thee. Oh, thou art poor

Of noble powers I see,

And full of nothing else but empty me;
Narrow and low, and infinitely less

Than this great morning's mighty business.

One little world or two,
Alas! will never do;

We must have store;

Go, soul, out of thyself, and seek for more;
Go and request

Great Nature for the key of her huge chest
Of heav'ns, the self-involving set of spheres
Which dull mortality more feels than 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

All-sovereign Name,

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-crown'd doors of that illustrious

Come, lovely Name! life of our hope!

Lo, we hold our hearts wide ope!

Unlock thy cabinet of day,

Dearest sweet, and come away.

Lo, how the thirsty lands

Gasp for thy golden show'rs with long-stretch'd hands!

Lo, how the labouring earth,

That hopes to be

All heaven by thee,
Leaps at thy birth!