How much more those essentiall parts of his, His truth, his love, his wisdome, and his bliss, His grace, his doome, his mercy, and his might, By which he lends us of himselfe a sight!
Those unto all he daily doth display,
And shew himselfe in the image of his grace,
As in a looking-glasse, through which he may
Be seene of all his creatures, vile and base,
That are unable else to see his face,
His glorious face, which glistereth else so bright,
That the angels selves cannot endure his sight.
But we, fraile wights! whose sight cannot sustaine The Sun's bright beames when he on us doth shine,
But that their points rebutted backe againe
Are dul'd, how we can see with feeble eyne
The glorie of that Majestie divine,
In sight of whom both sun and moone are darke,
Compared to his least resplendent sparke ?
The means, therefore, which unto us is lent
Him to behold, is on his workes to looke,
Which he hath made in beauty excellent,
And in the same, as in a brasen booke,
To read enregistred in every nooke
His goodnesse, which his beautie doth declare;
For all that's good is beautifull and faire.
Thence gathering plumes of perfect speculation, To impe' the wings of thy high flying mind, Mount up aloft through heavenly contemplation,
To furnish with new feathers.
From this darke world, whose damps the soule do
And, like the native brood of eagles kynd,
On that bright Sunne of Glorie fixe thine eyes,
Clear'd from grosse mists of fraile infirmities.
Humbled with feare and awfull reverence,
Before the footestoole of his Majestie
Throw thy selfe downe, with trembling innocence,
Ne dare looke up with corruptible eye
On the dred face of that Great Deity,
For feare, lest if he chaunce to look on thee,
Thou turne to nought, and quite confounded bee.
But lowly fall before his mercie seate,
Close covered with the Lambe's integrity
From the just wrath of his avengeful threat
That sits upon the righteous throne on hie;
His throne is built upon eternity,
More firm and durable than steele or brasse,
Or the hard diamond, which them both doth passe.
His scepter is the rod of Righteousness,
With which he bruseth all his foes to dust,
And the great dragon strongly doth represse
Under the rigour of his judgment just;
His seate is Truth, to which the faithfull trust,
From whence proceed her beames so pure and bright
That all about him sheddeth glorious light:
Light, farre exceeding that bright blazing sparke
Which darted is from Titan's flaming head,
That with his beames enlumineth the darke
And dampish air, whereby all things are red;
Whose nature yet so much is marvelled
Of mortall wits, that it doth much amaze
The greatest wisards which thereon do gaze.
But that immortall light, which there doth shine, Is many thousand times more bright, more cleare, More excellent, more glorious more divine, Through which to God, all mortall actions here, And even the thoughts of men, do plaine appeare; For from the Eternall Truth it doth proceed, Through heavenly vertue which her beames doe breed.
With the great glorie of that wondrous light
His throne is all encompassed around,
And hid in his owne brightnesse from the sight
Of all that looke 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 bosome Sapience doth sit,
The soveraine dearling of the Deity,
Clad like a queene in royall robes, most fit
For so great powre and peerelesse majesty,
And all with gemmes and jewels gorgeously
Adorn'd, that brighter than the starres appeare,
And make her native brightness seem more cleare.
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 powre imperial.
Both heaven and earth obey unto her will,
And all the creatures which they both containe;
For of her fulnesse which the world doth fill
They all partake, and do in state remaine,
As their great Maker did at first ordaine,
Through observation of her high beheast,
By which they first were made, and still increast.
The fairnesse of her face no tongue can tell;
For she the daughters of all women's race,
And angels eke,' in beautie doth excell,
Sparkled on her from God's owne glorious face,
And more increast by her owne goodly grace,
That it doth farre exceed all human thought,
Ne can on Earth compared be to ought.
Ne could that painter (had he lived yet)
Which pictur'd Venus with so curious quill,
That all posterity admired it,
Have pourtray'd this, for all his maistring skill;
Ne she herself, had she remained still,
And were as fair as fabling wits do feign,
Could once come near this beauty soveraign.
But had those wits, the wonders of their days,
Or that sweet Teian poet, which did spend
His plenteous vein in setting forth his praise,
Seen but a glimpse of this which I pretend,
How wondrously would he her face commend,
Above that idole of his feigning thought,
That all the world should with his rimes be fraught!
How then dare I, the novice of his art,
Presume to picture so divine a wight,
Or hope to express her least perfection's part, Whose beauty fills the heavens with her light, And darks the earth with shadow of her sight? Ah, gentle muse! thou art too weak and faint The pourtrait of so heavenly hue to paint.
Let angels, which her goodly face behold
And see at will, her soveraigne praises sing,
And those most sacred mysteries unfold
Of that faire love of mightie Heaven's King;
Enough is me to admyre so heavenly thing,
And, being thus with her huge love possest
In the only wonder of herselfe to rest.
But whoso may, thrise happie man him hold,
Of all on earth whom God so much doth grace,
And lets his owne beloved to behold;
For in the view of her celestiall face
All joy, all blisse, all happinesse, have place;
Ne ought on earth can want unto the wight
Who of herselfe can win the wishfull sight.
For she, out of her secret treasury,
Plenty of riches forth on him will pour,
Even heavenly riches, which there hidden lie
Within the closet of her chastest bowre,
The eternal portion of her precious dowre,
Which mighty God hath given to her free,
And to all those which thereof worthy bee.
None thereof worthy bee 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
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