Classic Poem

May 12 73

My soull, art heaven-born then be sublime
And up unto itt, in affection climb

Thou wert not made, in dunghills for to rake
But of the devine nature, to pertake

The world shall shortly, in whit ashes lye
With all its beauty, and its braviry

Oh wilt thou fix thine. hart, and and eye upon
That which shall soe soon, wear out, & be gone.

And not with care, and diligence make sure
Of a crown, and kingdome. which shall still endure

This world att best, is but a durty hole
Unsutable, to an immortall soull

Whose Larg capacytys, can only be
Satisfi'd and fil'd with a deity

This world was ne're, intended for thy rest
And wilt thou here erect, & build, thy nest

It is thine inne, to Lodg in for a night
Oh use itt soe, and disappountments slight

As knowing itt is not thy home, only
A baiting place, towards eternity

Pack up with hast, & speed, for thy remove
Unto thy house, & countrey, up above

Thou art impris'ned in a tent of clay
Yet mayst thou look, & long, for that sweet day

When death shall ope the door, & let thee fly
Unto a sinlese, immortalyty.

Take heed of sleeping, when the bridgroom shall
Come, thee, unto the marraige feast, to call

Gett oyl, to make thy lamp burn clear, & bright
That when he comes, thou mayst to him, take flight

And enter with him, for to solemnize
The marraige feast, among the truly wise

Stand therfore, with thy loyns, fast girt about
Still att the door wacthing, and crying out

Oh when, oh when, will my sweet bridgroom come
To consumate the macth, and fecth me home

And in the meane time, as heir to a crown
Scorn once, to any base work, to stoop down

Oh live as one, thats truly heaven-born
Who doth all sublunary, glorys, scorn

As knowing they, cannot compared be
With that which is reserv'd, in heaven for thee