INTRODUCTION (continued 3)

Ye thoughts and apprehensions are The Heavenly streams which fill the soul with rare Transcendent perfect pleasures. At any time As if ye still were in your prime, Ye open all His heavenly treasures. His joys accessible are found To you, and those things enter which surround The soul. Ye living things within! Where had all joy and glory been Had ye not made the soul those things to know, Which seated in it make the fairest shew?

I know not by what secret power Ye flourish so: but ye within your bower More beautiful do seem, And better meat Ye daily yield my soul to eat, Than even the objects I esteem Without my soul. What were the sky, What were the sun, or stars, did ye not lie In me, and represent them there Where else they never could appear! Yea, what were bliss without such thoughts to me, What were my life, what were the Deity?

O ye Conceptions of delight! Ye that inform my soul with life and light! Ye representatives, and springs Of inward pleasure! Ye joys, ye ends of outward treasure! Ye inward and ye living things! The thought or joy conceived is The inward fabric of my standing bliss: It is the very substance of my mind Transform'd and with its objects lined, The quintessence, elixir, spirit, cream: 'Tis strange that things unseen should be supreme.

The eye's confined, the body's pent In narrow room: limbs are of small extent, But thoughts are always free; And as they're best So can they even in the breast Rove o'er the world with liberty: Can enter ages, present be In any kingdom, into bosoms see. Thoughts, thoughts can come to things and view What bodies can't approach unto: They know no bar, denial, limit, wall, But have a liberty to look on all.

Like bees they fly from flower to flower, Appear in every closet, temple, bower, And suck the sweet from thence No eye can see: As tasters to the Deity, Incredible their excellence, For evermore they will be seen, Nor ever moulder into less esteem. They ever shew an equal face, And are immortal in their place: Ten thousand Ages hence they are as strong, Ten thousand Ages hence they are as young.

A delicate and tender thought The quintessence is found of all He wrought; It is the fruit of all his works, Which we conceive, Bring forth, and give, Yea and in which the greater value lurks. It is the fine and curious flower Which we return and offer every hour; So tender is our Paradise That in a trice It withers strait and fades away If we but cease its beauty to display.

Why things so precious should be made So prone, so easy, and so apt to fade It is not easy to declare; But God would have His creatures brave, And that too by their own continual care. He gave them power every hour Both to erect and to maintain a tower, Which he far more in us doth prize Than all the skies, That we might offer it to Him, And in our souls be like the Seraphim.

That temple David did intend Was but a thought, and yet it did transcend King Solomon's. A thought we know Is that for which God doth enrich With joys even Heaven above and Earth below. For that all objects might be seen He made the orient azure and the green: That we might in his works delight And that the sight Of those His treasures might enflame The soul with love to Him, He made the same.

This sight which is the glorious End Of all His works and which doth comprehend Eternity and time and space, Is far more dear, And far more near To Him, than all His glorious dwelling-place. It is a spiritual world within, A living world and nearer far of kin To God than that which first he made. While that doth fade This therefore ever shall endure Within the soul as more divine and pure.

Ye hidden nectars, which my God doth drink, Ye heavenly streams, ye beams divine, On which the angels think, How quick, how strongly do ye shine! Ye images of joy that in me dwell, Ye sweet mysterious shades That do all substances excel, Whose glory never fades; Ye skies, ye seas, ye stars, or things more fair, O ever, ever unto me repair!

Ye pleasant thoughts! O how that sun divine Appears to-day which I did see So sweetly then to shine Even in my very infancy! Ye rich ideas which within me live Ye living pictures here, Ye spirits that do bring and give All joys; when ye appear Even Heaven itself and God, and all in you Come down on earth and please my blessed view.

I never glorious great and rich am found, Am never ravished with joy, Till ye my soul surround: Till ye my blessedness display No soul but stone, no man but clay am I, No flesh, but dust, till ye Delight, invade and move my eye, And do replenish me; My sweet informers and my living treasures, My great companions and my only pleasures!

O what incredible delights, what fires, What appetites, what joys do ye Occasion, what desires, What heavenly praises! While we see What every Seraphim above admires! Your Jubilee and trade, Ye are so strangely and divinely made Shall never, never fade: Ye ravish all my soul: Of you I twice Will speak, for in the dark y'are Paradise.

Thoughts are the Angels which we send abroad, To visit all the parts of God's abode. Thoughts are the things wherein we all confess The quintessence of sin and holiness Is laid. All wisdom in a thought doth shine, By thoughts alone the soul is made divine. Thoughts are the springs of all our actions here On earth, tho' they themselves do not appear. They are the springs of beauty, order, peace, The city's gallantries, the fields' increase. Rule, government, and kingdoms flow from them, And so doth all the New Jerusalem, At least the glory, splendour, and delight, For 'tis by thoughts that even she is bright. Thoughts are the things wherewith even God is crown'd, And as the soul without them's useless found, So are all other creatures too. A thought Is even the very cream of all He wrought. All holy fear, and love, and reverence, With honour, joy, and praise, as well as sense, Are hidden in our thoughts. Thoughts are the things That us affect: The honey and the stings Of all that is are seated in a thought, Even while it seemeth weak, and next to nought. The matter of all pleasure, virtue, worth, Grief, anger, hate, revenge, which words set forth, Are thoughts alone. Thoughts are the highest things, The very offspring of the King of Kings. Thoughts are a kind of strange celestial creature That when they're good, they're such in every feature. They bear the image of their Father's face, And beautify even all His dwelling-place: So nimble, volatile, and unconfined, Illimited, to which no form's assigned, So changeable, capacious, easy, free, That what itself doth please a thought may be. From nothing to infinity it turns, Even in a moment: Now like fire it burns, Now's frozen ice: Now shapes the glorious sun, Now darkness in a moment doth become. Now all at once: Now crowded in a sand, Now fills the hemisphere, and sees a land: Now on a sudden's wider than the sky, And now runs parile with the Deity. 'Tis such that it may all or nothing be, And's made so active, voluble, and free Because 'tis capable of all that's good, And is the end of all when understood. A thought can clothe itself with all the treasures Of God, and be the greatest of His pleasures. It all His laws, and glorious works, and ways, And attributes and counsels, all His praise It can conceive and imitate, and give: It is the only being that doth live. 'Tis capable of all perfection here, Of all His love and joy and glory there. It is the only beauty that doth shine, Most great, transcendent, heavenly, and divine. The very best or worst of things it is, The basis of all misery or bliss. Its measures and capacities are such, Their utmost measure we can never touch. Here ornament on ornament may still Be laid; beauty on beauty, skill on skill, Strength still on strength, and life itself on life, 'Tis Queen of all things, and its Maker's wife. The best of thoughts is yet a thing unknown, But when 'tis perfect it is like His own: Intelligible, endless, yet a sphere Substantial too: In which all things appear, All worlds, all excellencies, senses, graces, Joys, pleasures, creatures, and the angels' faces. It shall be married ever unto all, And all embrace, tho' now it seemeth small. A thought my soul may omnipresent be, For all it toucheth which a thought can see. O that mysterious Being! Thoughts are things Which rightly used make His creatures Kings.

For giving me desire, An eager thirst, a burning ardent fire, A virgin infant flame, A Love with which into the world I came, An inward hidden heavenly love, Which in my soul did work and move, And ever ever me inflame With restless longing, heavenly avarice, That never could be satisfied, That did incessantly a Paradise Unknown suggest, and something undescried Discern, and bear me to it; be Thy Name for ever praised by me.

My parched and withered bones Burnt up did seem: my soul was full of groans: My thoughts extensions were: Like paces, reaches, steps they did appear: They somewhat hotly did pursue, Knew that they had not all their due, Nor ever quiet were: But made my flesh like hungry, thirsty ground, My heart a deep profound abyss, And every joy and pleasure but a wound, So long as I my Blessedness did miss. O Happiness! A famine burns, And all my life to anguish turns!

Where are the silent streams, The living waters and the glorious beams, The sweet reviving bowers, The shady groves, the sweet and curious flowers, The springs and trees, the heavenly days, The flow'ry meads, and glorious rays, The gold and silver towers? Alas! all these are poor and empty things! Trees, waters, days, and shining beams, Fruits, flowers, bowers, shady groves and springs, No joy will yield, no more than silent streams; Those are but dead material toys, And cannot make my heavenly joys.

O Love! Ye amities, And friendships that appear above the skies! Ye feasts and living pleasures! Ye senses, honours, and imperial treasures! Ye bridal joys! ye high delights That satisfy all appetites! Ye sweet affections, and Ye high respects! Whatever joys there be In triumphs, whatsoever stand In amicable sweet society, Whatever pleasures are at His right hand, Ye must before I am divine, In full propriety be mine.

This soaring, sacred thirst, Ambassador of bliss, approached first, Making a place in me That made me apt to prize, and taste, and see. For not the objects but the sense Of things doth bliss to souls dispense, And make it, Lord, like thee, Sense, feeling, taste, complacency, and sight, These are the true and real joys, The living, flowing, inward, melting, bright, And heavenly pleasures; all the rest are toys: All which are founded in Desire, As light in flame and heat in fire.

Thoughts are the wings on which the soul doth fly, The messengers which soar above the sky, Elijah's fiery chariot, that conveys The soul, even here, to those eternal joys. Thoughts are the privileged posts that soar Unto His throne, and there appear before Ourselves approach. These may at any time Above the clouds, above the stars may climb. The soul is present by a thought; and sees The New Jerusalem, the palaces, The thrones, and feasts, the regions of the sky, The joys and treasures of the Deity. His wisdom makes all things so bright and pure, That they are worthy ever to endure. His glorious works, His laws and counsels are, When seen, all like Himself, beyond compare. All ages with His love and glory shine, As they are His all Kingdoms are Divine. Whole hosts of Angels at His throne attend, And joyful praises from His saints ascend. Thousands of thousands kneel before His face And all His benefits with joy embrace. His goodness makes all creatures for His pleasure, And makes itself His creatures' chiefest treasure. Almighty power doth itself employ In all its works to make itself the joy Of all His hosts, and to complete the bliss Which omnipresent and eternal is. His omnipresence is an Endless Sphere, Wherein all worlds as his delights appear: His bounty is the spring of all delight; Our blessedness, like His, is infinite. His glory endless is and doth surround And fill all worlds without or end or bound. What hinders then but we in Heaven may be Even here on Earth did we but rightly see? As mountains, chariots, horsemen all on fire, To guard Elisha did of old conspire, Which yet his servant could not see, being blind, Ourselves environ'd with His joys we find. Eternity itself is that true light That doth enclose us being infinite. The very seas do overflow and swim With precious nectars as they flow from Him. The stable Earth which we beneath behold, Is far more precious than if made of gold. Fowls, fishes, beasts, trees, herbs, and precious flowers, Seeds, spices, gums, and aromatic bowers, Wherewith we are enclos'd and serv'd each day By His appointment do their tributes pay, And offer up themselves as gifts of love, Bestowed on Saints, proceeding from above. Could we but justly, wisely, truly prize These blessings, we should be above the skies, And praises sing with pleasant heart and voice, Adoring with the Angels should rejoice. The fertile clouds give rain, the purer air, Is warm and wholesome, soft and bright and fair. The stars are wonders which His wisdom names, The glorious sun the knowing soul enflames. The very Heavens in their sacred worth, At once serve us and set His glory forth. Their influences touch the grateful sense, They please the eye with their magnificence; While in His temple all His saints do sing, And for His bounty praise their Heavenly King. All these are in His omnipresence, still As living waters from His throne they trill; As tokens of His love they all flow down Their beauty, use, and worth the soul do crown. Men are like Cherubims on either hand Whose flaming love by His divine command Is made a sacrifice to ours; which streams Throughout all worlds, and fills them all with beams. We drink our fill, and take their beauty in, While Jesus' blood refines the soul from sin. His grievous Cross is a supreme delight, And of all Heavenly ones the greatest sight. His Throne is near, 'tis just before our face, And all Eternity His dwelling-place, His dwelling-place is full of joys and pleasures, His throne a fountain of Eternal treasures. His omnipresence is all sight and love, Which whoso sees he ever dwells above. With soft embraces it doth clasp the soul, And watchfully all enemies control. It enters in and doth a temple find, Or make a living one within the mind, That, while God's omnipresence in us lies, His treasures might be all before our eyes: For minds and souls intent upon them here, Do with the Seraphim's above appear: And are like spheres of bliss, by love and sight, By joy, thanksgiving, praise, made infinite. O give me grace to see Thy face, and be A constant Mirror of Eternity. Let my pure soul, transformed to a thought Attend upon Thy Throne, and, as it ought, Spend all its time in feeding on Thy love, And never from Thy sacred presence move. So shall my conversation ever be In Heaven, and I, O Lord my God, with Thee!

The bliss of other men is my delight, (When once my principles are right:) And every soul which mine doth see A treasury. The face of God is goodness unto all, And while He thousands to His throne doth call, While millions bathe in pleasures, And do behold His treasures, The joys of all On mine do fall, And even my infinity doth seem A drop without them of a mean esteem.

The light which on ten thousand faces shines, The beams which crown ten thousand vines With glory, and delight, appear As if they were Reflected only from them all for me, That I a greater beauty there might see. Thus stars do beautify The azure canopy: Gilded with rays, Ten thousand ways They serve me, while the sun that on them shines Adorns those stars and crowns those bleeding vines.

Where goodness is within, the soul doth reign. Goodness the only Sovereign! Goodness delights alone to see Felicity. And while the Image of His goodness lives In me, whatever He to any gives Is my delight and ends In me, in all my friends: For goodness is The spring of bliss, And 'tis the end of all it gives away And all it gives it ever doth enjoy.

His goodness! Lord, it is His highest glory! The very grace of all His story! What other thing can me delight But the blest sight Of His eternal goodness? While His love, His burning love the bliss of all doth prove, While it beyond the ends Of Heaven and Earth extends, And multiplies Above the skies, His glory, love, and goodness in my sight Is for my pleasure made more infinite.

The soft and swelling grapes that on their vines Receive the lively warmth that shines Upon them, ripen there for me: Or drink they be, Or meat. The stars salute my pleased sense With a derived and borrowed influence: But better vines do grow, Far better wines do flow Above, and while The Sun doth smile Upon the lilies there, and all things warm, Their pleasant odours do my spirit charm.

Their rich affections me like precious seas Of nectar and ambrosia please. Their eyes are stars, or more divine And brighter shine: Their lips are soft and swelling grapes, their tongues A quire of blessed and harmonious songs. Their bosoms fraught with love Are Heavens all Heavens above; And being Images of God they are The highest joys His goodness did prepare.

In making bodies Love could not express Itself, or art; unless it made them less. O what a monster had in man been seen, Had every thumb or toe a mountain been! What worlds must he devour when he did eat? What oceans drink? Yet could not all his meat, Or stature, make him like an Angel shine; Or make his soul in glory more divine. A soul it is that makes us truly great, Whose little bodies make us more complete. An Understanding that is Infinite, An endless, wide, and everlasting sight, That can enjoy all things and nought exclude, Is the most sacred greatness may be viewed. 'Twas inconvenient that his bulk should be An endless hill; he nothing then could see: No figure have, no motion, beauty, place, No colour, feature, member, light, or grace: A body like a mountain is but cumber, An endless body is but idle lumber, It spoils converse, and Time itself devours, While meat in vain in feeding idle powers, Excessive bulk being most injurious found, To those conveniences which men have crown'd. His wisdom did His power here repress, God made man greater while He made him less.

His power bounded, greater is in might, Than if let loose 'twere wholly infinite. He could have made an endless Sea by this, But then it had not been a Sea of Bliss. Did water from the centre to the skies Ascend, 'twould drown whatever else we prize. The Ocean bounded in a finite shore, Is better far because it is no more, No use nor glory would in that be seen, His power made it endless in esteem. Had not the sun been bounded in its sphere, Did all the world in one fair flame appear, And were that flame a real infinite, 'Twould yield no profit, splendour, nor delight. Its corps confined and beams extended be Effects of wisdom in the Deity. One star made infinite would all exclude, An earth made infinite could ne'er be viewed. But one being fashioned for the other's sake, He bounding all, did all most useful make: And which is best, in profit and delight, Tho' not in bulk, they all are infinite.

News from a foreign country came, As if my treasure and my wealth lay there: So much it did my heart enflame 'Twas wont to call my soul into mine ear, Which thither went to meet The approaching sweet, And on the threshold stood, To entertain the unknown Good. It hovered there As if 'twould leave mine ear, And was so eager to embrace The joyful tidings as they came, 'Twould almost leave its dwelling-place, To entertain that same.

As if the tidings were the things, My very joys themselves, my foreign treasure, Or else did bear them on their wings; With so much joy they came, with so much pleasure. My Soul stood at that gate To recreate Itself with bliss: And to Be pleased with speed. A fuller view It fain would take, Yet journeys back would make Unto my heart: as if 'twould fain Go out to meet, yet stay within To fit a place, to entertain, And bring the tidings in.

What sacred instinct did inspire My Soul in childhood with a hope so strong? What secret force mov'd my desire To expect my joys beyond the seas, so young? Felicity I knew Was out of view: And being here alone, I saw that happiness was gone From me! For this, I thirsted absent bliss, And thought that sure beyond the seas, Or else in something near at hand I knew not yet, (since nought did please I knew) my Bliss did stand.

But little did the infant dream That all the treasures of the world were by: And that himself was so the cream And crown of all which round about did lie. Yet thus it was: The gem, The diadem, The ring enclosing all That stood upon this earthly ball; The Heavenly Eye, Much wider than the sky, Wherein they all included were, The glorious Soul that was the King Made to possess them, did appear A small and little thing!

A life of Sabbaths here beneath! Continual Jubilees and Joys! The days of Heaven, while we breathe On Earth! where sin all bliss destroys: This is a triumph of delights That doth exceed all appetites! No joy can be compared to this, It is a life of perfect bliss.

Or perfect bliss! How can it be? To conquer Satan and to reign In such a vale of misery, Where vipers, stings and tears remain, Is to be crowned with victory. To be content, divine, and free Even here beneath is great delight, And next the beatific sight.

But inward lusts do oft assail, Temptations work us much annoy; We'll therefore weep, and to prevail Shall be a more celestial joy. To have no other enemy But one; and to that one to die: To fight with that and conquer it, Is better than in peace to sit.

'Tis better for a little time: For he that all his lusts doth quell, Shall find this life to be his prime, And vanquish sin and conquer hell. The next shall be his double joy, And that which here seemed to destroy Shall in the other life appear A root of Bliss; a pearl each tear.

Sin! O only fatal woe, That makes me sad and mourning go! That all my joys dost spoil, His Kingdom and my Soul defile! I never can agree With Thee.

Thou! Only Thou! O Thou alone, And my obdurate Heart of Stone, The poison and the foes Or my enjoyments and repose, The only bitter ill: Dost kill!

Oh! I cannot meet with thee, Nor once approach thy memory, But all my joys are dead, And all my sacred treasures fled, As if I now did dwell In Hell.

Lord! O hear how short I breathe! See how I tremble here beneath A sin! its ugly face More terror than its dwelling-place Contains, (O dreadful sin) Within!

Sin! wilt thou vanquish me! And shall I yield the victory? Shall all my joys be spoiled, And pleasures soiled By thee! Shall I remain As one that's slain And never more lift up the head? Is not my Saviour dead! His blood, thy bane, my balsam, bliss, joy, wine, Shall thee destroy; heal, feed, make me divine.

In Salem dwelt a glorious King, Rais'd from a shepherd's lowly state, That did His praises like an angel sing Who did the world create. By many great and bloody wars He was advanced unto thrones: But more delighted in the stars Than in the splendour of his precious stones. Nor gold nor silver did his eye regard: The works of God were his sublime reward.

A warlike champion he had been, And many feats of chivalry Had done: in kingly courts his eye had seen A vast variety Of earthly joys: yet he despised Those fading honours and false pleasures Which are by mortals so much prized; And placed his happiness in other treasures: No state of life which in this world we find Could yield contentment to his greater mind.

His fingers touched his trembling lyre, And every quivering string did yield A sound that filled all the Jewish quire, And echoed in the field. No pleasure was so great to him As in a silent night to see The moon and stars: a Cherubim Above them even here he seemed to be. Enflamed with love it was his great desire, To sing, contemplate, ponder, and admire.

He was a prophet and foresaw Things extant in the world to come: He was a judge and ruled by a law That than the honeycomb Was sweeter far: he was a sage, And all his people could advise; An oracle whose every page Contained in verse the greatest mysteries: But most he then enjoy'd himself when he Did as a poet praise the Deity.

A shepherd, soldier, and divine, A judge, a courtier, and a king, Priest, angel, prophet, oracle did shine At once when he did sing. Philosopher and poet too Did in his melody appear; All these in him did please the view Of those that did his Heavenly music hear, And every drop that from his flowing quill Came down did all the world with nectar fill.

He had a deep and perfect sense Of all the glories and the pleasures That in God's works are hid; the excellence Of such transcendent treasures Made him on earth an Heavenly King, And fill'd his solitudes with joy; He never did more sweetly sing Than when alone, tho' that doth mirth destroy: Sense did his soul with Heavenly life inspire And made him seem in God's celestial quire.

Rich, sacred, deep and precious things Did here on earth the man surround: With all the glory of the King of Kings He was most strangely crown'd. His clear soul and open sight Among the Sons of God did see Things filling angels with delight; His ear did hear their Heavenly melodie And when he was alone he all became, That Bliss implied, or did increase his fame.

All arts he then did exercise; And as his God he did adore, By secret ravishments above the skies He carried was before He died. His soul did see and feel What others know not; and became, While he before his God did kneel, A constant Heavenly pure seraphic flame. O that I might unto his throne aspire, And all his joys above the stars admire.

Unto the spring of purest life Aspires my withered heart, My soul confined in this flesh Employs both strength and art Working, struggling, suing still From exile home to part.

Who can utter the full joy Which that high place doth hold, Where all the buildings founded are On orient pearls untold, And all the work of those high rooms Doth shine with beams of gold!

The season is not changed, but still Both sun and moon are Bright, The Lamb of this fair city is That clear immortal Light Whose presence makes eternal day Which never ends in night.

Nay all the Saints themselves shall shine As bright as brightest sun, In fullest Triumph crowned they To mutual joys shall run, And safely count their fights and foes When once the war is done.

For being freed from all defect They feel no fleshly war, Or rather both the flesh and mind At length united are, For joying in so rich a peace They can admit no jar.

For ever cheerful and content They from mishaps are free; No sickness there can threaten health, Nor young men old can be: There they enjoy such happy state That in't no change they see.

Who know the Knower of all things What can they choose but know? They all behold each other's hearts And all their secrets shew: One act of will and of not will From all their minds do flow.

Though all their merits diverse be According to their pains, Yet Love doth make that every one's Which any other gains, And all which doth belong to one To all of them pertains.

O Happy Soul which shall behold Thy King still present there, And mayst from thence behold the world Run round, secure from fear, With stars and planets, moon and sun, Still moving in their sphere!

O King of Kings give me such strength In this great War depending, That I may here prevail at length, And ever be ascending, Till I at last arrive to Thee, The Source of all Felicity!

Come, Holy Ghost, Eternal God, Our hearts with Life inspire, Enkindle zeal in all our Souls, And fill us with Thy Heavenly fire.

Send forth Thy Beams and let Thy Grace Upon my spirit shine, That I may all Thy works enjoy, Revive, sing praises, be Divine.

What powerful Spirit lives within! What active Angel doth inhabit here! What heavenly light inspires my skin, Which doth so like a Deity appear! A Living Temple of all ages, I Within me see A Temple of Eternity! All Kingdoms I descry In me.

An inward Omnipresence here Mysteriously like His within me stands Whose knowledge is a Sacred Sphere That in itself at once includes all lands. There is some Angel that within me can Both talk and move, And walk and fly and see and love, A man on earth, a man Above.

Dull walls of clay my Spirit leaves, And in a foreign Kingdom doth appear, This great Apostle it receives Admires His works and sees them, standing here. Within myself from East to West I move As if I were At once a Cherubim and Sphere, Or was at once above And here.

The Soul's a messenger whereby Within our inward Temple we may be Even like the very Deity In all the parts of His Eternity. O live within and leave unwieldy dross! Flesh is but clay! O fly my Soul and haste away To Jesus' Throne or Cross— Obey!