Classic Poem

O God, the soules pure fi'ry Spring,
Who diff'rent natures wouldst combine:
That man whom thou to life didst bring,
By weakenesse may to death decline,
By thee they both are fram'd aright,
They by thy hand united be;
And while they joyne with growing might,
Both flesh and spirit live to thee:
But when division them recals,
They bend their course to sev'rall ends,
Into dry earth the body falls,
The fervent soule to heav'n ascends:
For all created things at length,
By slow corruption growing old,
Must needs forsake compacted strength,
And disagreeing webs unfold.
But thou, deare Lord, hast meanes prepar'd,
That death in thine may never reigne,
And hast undoubted waies declar'd,
How members lost may rise againe:
That while those gen'rous rayes are bound
In prison under fading things;
That part may still be stronger found,
Which from above directly springs.
If man with baser thoughts possest,
His will in earthly mud shall drowne;
The soule with such a weight opprest,
Is by the body carried downe:
But when she mindfull of her birth,
Her self from ugly spots debarres;
She lifts her friendly house from earth,
And beares it with her to the Starres.
...
Hence comes it to adorne the grave,
With carefull labour men affect:
The limbes dissolv'd last honour have,
And fun'rall Rites with pompe are deckt;
The custome is to spread abroad
White linnens, grac'd with splendour pure,
Sabaean Myrrh on bodies strow'd,
Preserves them from decay secure.
The hollow stones by Carvers wrought,
Which in faire monuments are laid,
Declare that pledges thither brought,
Are not to death but sleepe convay'd.
...
Earth, take this man with kind embrace,
In thy soft bosome him conceive:
For humane members here I place,
And gen'rous parts in trust I leave.
This house, the soule her guest once felt,
Which from the Makers mouth proceeds:
Here sometime fervent wisdome dwelt,
Which Christ the Prince of Wisedome breeds.
A cov'ring for this body make,
The Author never will forget
His workes; nor will those lookes forsake,
In which he hath his Picture set.
For when the course of time is past,
And all our hopes fulfill'd shall be,
Thou op'ning must restore at last,
The limbes in shape which now we see.
Nor if long age with pow'rfull reigne,
Shall turne the bones to scatter'd dust;
And only ashes shall retaine,
In compasse of a handfull thrust:
Nor if swift Floods, or strong command
Of Windes through empty Ayre have tost
The members with the flying Sand;
Yet man is never fully lost [. . .]