His sceptre is the rod of righteousness,

With which He bruiseth all his foes to dust, And the great Dragon strongly doth repress

Under the rigour of his judgment just;

His seat is truth, to which the faithful trust, From whence proceed her beams so pure and bright, That all about Him sheddeth glorious light;

Light far exceeding that bright blazing spark,
Which darted is from Titan's flaming head,
That with his beams illumineth the dark

And dampish air, whereby all things are red;
Whose nature yet so much is marvelled
Of mortal wits, that it doth much amaze
The greatest wizards which thereon do gaze.

But that immortal light, which there doth shine,

Is many thousand times more bright, more clear, More excellent, more glorious, more divine,

Through which to God all mortal actions here, And e'en the thoughts of men, do plain appear; For from th' eternal truth it doth proceed, Through heavenly virtue which her beams do breed.

With the great glory of that wondrous light
His throne is all encompassed around,
And hid in his own brightness from the sight

Of all that look thereon with eyes unsound;
And underneath his feet are to be found
Thunder and lightning, and tempestuous fire,
The instruments of his avenging ire.

There in his bosom Sapience doth sit,

The sovereign darling of the Deity,
Clad like a queen in royal robes, most fit

For so great power and peerless majesty;
And all with gems and jewels gorgeously
Adorned, that brighter than the stars appear,
And make her native brightness seem more clear;

And on her head a crown of purest gold

Is set, in sign of highest sovereignty,

And in her hand a sceptre she doth hold,

With which she rules the house of God on high,

And manageth the ever-moving sky,

And in the same these lower creatures all,

Subjected to her power imperial.

Both heaven and earth obey unto her will,

And all the creatures which they both contain;
For of her fulness, which the world doth fill,
They all partake, and do in state remain,

As their great Maker did at first ordain,
Through observation of her high behest,
By which they first were made and still increased.

The fairness of her face no tongue can tell,

For she the daughters of all women's race,

And angels eke, in beauty doth excel;

Sparkled on her from God's own glorious face, And more increased by her own goodly grace, That it doth far exceed all human thought, Nor can on earth compared be to aught.

Let angels, which her goodly face behold,
And see at will, her goodly praises sing,
And those most sacred mysteries unfold,

Of that fair love of mighty heaven's King:
Enough is me to admire so heavenly thing,
And being thus with her huge love possessed,
In th' only wonder of herself to rest.

But whoso may, thrice happy man him hold,

Of all on earth, whom God so much doth grace,

And lets his own beloved to behold;

For in the view of her celestial face

All joy, all bliss, all happiness have place:

Not aught on earth can want unto the wight,
Who of herself can win the wishful sight.

For she out of her secret treasury

Plenty of riches forth on him will pour, E'en heavenly riches, which there hidden lie, Within the closet of her chastest bower,

Th' eternal portion of her precious dower, Which mighty God hath given to her free, And to all those which thereof worthy be.

None thereof worthy be but those whom she
Vouchsafeth to her presence to receive,
And letteth them her lovely face to see,

Whereof such wondrous pleasures they conceive,
And sweet contentment, that it doth bereave
Their soul of sense, through infinite delight,
And them transport from flesh into the sprite;

In which they see such admirable things,
As carries them into an ecstasy,

And hear such heavenly notes and carolings

Of God's high praise, that fills the brazen sky, And feel such joy and pleasure inwardly, That maketh them all worldly cares forget, And only think on that before them set.

Nor from thenceforth doth any fleshly sense,

Or idle thought of earthly things, remain;
But all that erst seemed sweet seems now offence,
And all that pleased erst now seems to pain;
Their joy, their comfort, their desire, their gain,

Is fixed all on that which now they see;
All other sights but feigned shadows be.

And that fair lamp, which useth to inflame

The hearts of men with self-consuming fire, Thenceforth seems foul and full of sinful blame;

And all that pomp to which proud men aspire By name of honour, and so much desire, Seems to them baseness, and all riches dross, And all mirth sadness, and all lucre loss.

So full their eyes are of that glorious sight,

And senses fraught with such satiety,
That in nought else on earth they can delight,
But in th' respect of that felicity,

Which they have written in their inward eye,
On which they feed, and in their fattened mind,
All happy joy and full contentment find.

Ah, then, my hungry soul! which long hast fed
On idle fancies of thy foolish thought,
And, with false beauties' flattering bait misled,
Hast after vain deceitful shadows sought,

Which all are fled, and now have left thee nought
But late repentance, through thy follies' prief 15;
Ah! cease to gaze on matter of thy grief,

And look at last up to that Sovereign Light,

From whose pure beams all perfect beauty springs,
That kindleth love in every godly sprite,

Even the love of God, which loathing brings
Of this vile world and these gay-seeming things;
With whose sweet pleasures being so possessed,
Thy straying thoughts henceforth for ever rest.

THE MINISTRY OF ANGELS.

AND is there care in heaven, and is there love
In heavenly spirits to these creatures base,

That may compassion of their evils move?

There is,-else much more wretched were the case
Of men than beasts. But, oh! th' exceeding grace

Of highest God that loves his creatures so,

And all his works with mercy doth embrace,

That blessed angels He sends to and fro

To serve to wicked men, to serve his wicked foe!

15 Proof.

How oft do they their silver bowers leave

To come to succour us, that succour want! How oft do they with golden pinions cleave

The flitting skies, like flying pursuivant, Against foul fiends to aid us militant! They for us fight, they watch, and duly ward,

And their bright squadrons round about us plant,

And all for love, and nothing for reward:

Oh! why should heavenly God to man have such regard!

The heavens of their fortune's fault accuse, Sith they know best what is the est for them; For they to each such fortune do diffuse

As they do know each can most aptly use.

For not that which men covet most is best,

Nor that thing worst which men do most refuse;

But fittest is, that all contented rest

With that they hold: each hath his fortune in his breast.

It is the mind that maketh good or ill,

That maketh wretch 16 or happy, rich or poor;

For some that hath abundance at his will,

Hath not enough, but wants in greater store;
And other, that hath little, asks no more
But in that little is both rich and wise;

For wisdom is most riches fools therefore;
They are which fortune do by vows devise,
Sith each unto himself his life may fortunize.

16 Wretched.