Classic Poem

This earthly Beautie doth the Sence delight,
But Heavenly Beautie doth the minde more please:
The one the World hath as an Object right,
And seekes the World to pleasure with sweet ease:
 But th'other hath Jehovah for hir glasse,
 Nor she for any but for him doth passe.

The Sence doth burne with Loves unperfect works,
Which like a blaze in th'aire doth flit away:
The Soule thirsts after that which never hurts,
And hunts for that which never will decay:
 That, which not subject is to any time,
 But of itselfe most Perfect and Divine.

Thou (Lord) the Mortall and Immortall both
Created hast, marke humbly I require,
How much within my bodie they be wroth;
Marke how within me, gainst me they conspire
 Within themselves they vary so and grudge,
 That which of both shall win tis hard to judge.

My bad Conceits from Adam sprung of yore,
Doo headlong runne to endles death with shame:
And lesse that Reason do them bridle sore,
Hardly my Soule can passe from whence it came.
 Then pardon Lord the Course that I have runne,
 And I from Sinne a new Man will become.