Yet Light was seen and Life reveal'd.
The door was shut, yet let in day,
The fountain seal'd, yet life found way.
Glory to Thee, great virgin's Son !
In bosom of Thy Father's bliss.

The same to Thee, sweet Spirit! be done;
As ever shall be, was, and is. Amen.

Hark! she is call'd, the parting hour is come; Take thy farewell, poor World, Heaven must go home. A piece of heavenly earth, purer and brighter Than the chaste stars whose choice lamps come to light her, Whilst through the crystal orbs clearer than they She climbs, and makes a far more Milky Way. She's call'd! Hark, how the dear immortal Dove Sighs to His silver mate: 'Rise up, my love!' Rise up, my fair, my spotless one! The Winter's past, the rain is gone: The Spring is come, the flowers appear, No sweets (save thou) are wanting here. Come away, my love! Come away, my dove!

Cast off delay;

The court of Heaven is come

To wait upon thee home;

Come, come away.

The flowers appear,

Or quickly would, wert thou once here.
The Spring is come, or if it stay

'Tis to keep time with thy delay.

The rain is gone, except so much as we

Detain in needful tears to weep the want of thee. The Winter's past,

Or if he make less haste

His answer is why she does so,

If Summer come not, how can Winter go?
Come away, come away!

The shrill winds chide, the waters weep thy stay;
The fountains murmur, and each loftiest tree

Bows lowest his leafy top, to look for thee.
Come away, my love!

Come away, my dove! etc.

When Heaven bids come, who can say no?
Heaven calls her, and she must away,

Heaven will not, and she cannot stay.

Go then; go, glorious on the golden wings
Of the bright youth of Heaven, that sings
Under so sweet a burthen. Go,

Since thy dread Son will have it so :

And while thou go'st, our song and we
Will, as we may, reach after thee.
Hail, holy queen of humble hearts!

We in thy praise will have our parts.

And though thy dearest looks must now give light
To none but the blest heavens, whose bright

Beholders, lost in sweet delight,

Feed for ever their fair sight

With those divinest eyes, which we

And our dark world no more shall see;
Though our poor eyes are parted so,
Yet shall our lips never let go
Thy gracious name, but to the last,
Our loving song shall hold it fast.*
Thy precious name shall be
Thyself to us; and we

With holy care will keep it by us,

We to the last

Will hold it fast,

And no Assumption shall deny us.

All the sweetest showers

Of our fairest flowers

Will we strow upon it.

Though our sweets cannot make

It sweeter, they can take

Themselves new sweetness from it.

*The edition of 1652 lacks this and the preceding nine lines. They occur in the 1648 version.-Ed.

Maria, men and angels sing,

Maria, mother of our King.

Live, rosy princess, live! and may the bright
Crown of a most incomparable light

Embrace thy radiant brows. O may the best
Of everlasting joys bathe thy white breast.
Live, our chaste love, the holy mirth
Of Heaven; the humble pride of Earth.
Live, crown of women; queen of men ;
Live, mistress of our song. And when
Our weak desires have done their best,
Sweet angels come, and sing the rest.

Saint Mary Magdalene, or The Weeper.

Lo! where a wounded heart with bleeding eyes conspire,
Is she a flaming fountain, or a weeping fire?

THE WEEPER.

I.*

Hail, sister springs !

Parents of silver-footed rills!
Ever-bubbling things!

Thawing crystal! snowy hills
Still spending, never spent! I mean

Thy fair eyes, sweet Magdalene !

* In the main, the succession of stanzas as in 1646 edition has been adopted.—Ed.

g. I, 3

II.

Heavens thy fair eyes be ;

Heavens of ever-falling stars.

'Tis seed-time still with thee;

And stars thou sow'st, whose harvest dares

Promise the Earth to countershine

Whatever makes heaven's forehead fine.

III.

But we are deceived all :
Stars indeed they are too true :
For they but seem to fall,
As Heaven's other spangles do;
It is not for our Earth and us,
To shine in things so precious.

IV.

Upwards thou dost weep,

Heaven's bosom drinks the gentle stream.
Where th' milky rivers creep,

Thine floats above, and is the cream.

Waters above th' heavens, what they be

We are taught best by thy tears and thee.

V.

Every morn from hence,

A brisk cherub something sips,

Whose sacred influence

Adds sweetness to his sweetest lips;