Classic Poem

Go e glorious Saint! I knew twas not a shrine
Of flesh, could lodge so pure a soule as thine;
I saw it labour (in a holy scorne
Of living dust and ashes) to be sworne
A heavenly Quirlster: It sigh'd and groan'd
To be dissolv'd from mortall, and enthron'd
Among his fellow Angels, there to sing
Perpetuall Anthems to his heavenly King;
He was a stranger to his house of Clay:
Scarce own'd it, but that necessary stay,
Miscall'd it his; and onely zeale did make
Him love the building for the builder's sake.