love poems

FLORENCE DELMAR, UNDER A FICTITIOUS NARRATIVE, TAXES HER SUITOR WITH HIS ESTRANGED AFFECTION .

Tem. What moves you thus?
Flo. That which I read. And yet,
'Tis a stale sorrow; but a woman's wrong.
Tem. You give these moods of sentiment, these dreams
Of fancy too much sway. I pray you, Florence,
Follow example and conform your course
To custom, and the fashion of the times.
What air-spun grief o'erwrought you?
Flo. I have said,

July 9

What is itt, that thou dost require
whilst thou art smartly, knocking off
Our fingers, from what we admire
by it, thou calst for all, our love
What cause have we, if itt be soe
To wonder, thou shouldst stoop so low.

What is our love (deer Lord,) to thee
Thou'rt in thy self, to great, to high
To, gain by it, tis only wee
That ar advantaged, therby
Yet art thou pleas'd thus low to bend
As for soe meane, a thing to send.

All we can have, for to bestow

Gods fullnese common bounty, and specyall love, the souls chouse, July 5 73

When we our minds, and thoughts, doe set
Upon thy fullnese infinet.

We ar soon driven to a stand
At that, we cannot comprehand.

Though, from thee all our mercys flow
Thou'st ne're the lese, for to bestow.

When we thy providence doe eye
And see thy liberallity.

We run our selfs, into a maize
att all thy providencyall waies.

Thou spreadst a table, out for all
Both young, & old, both great, and small.

severity in love, better than prosperity in anger July 3 73

How often dost thou strik our fingers off
From thosse delights, on which we set much love
Somtimes thou takst them quite away from us
And dost att once our I'dols, kill, and crush
Somtimes, thou dost to us imbitter it
And that way makst us, losser from it sitt
By that time we ar wean'd from them a while
Soon after, somthing else, doth us, beguile
And slyly steall away, from thee our hart
And of our love, itt takes away thy part

Infinet love, & grace. July 2 73

If thou from hell, hadst only set
Us free. twere mercy. infinete
to those, who did rebell
But love, and grace, breaks through each let
and o're the banks did swell.

Thy love that rose exceeding high
In sending down, thy son to dye
our depts, for to discharg
And set, our soulls, att liberty
to walk in postures larg

If thou hadst only to the race
of sinfull Adam, shew'd this grace
To Let them still live here

The souls desire, June 6 73

A burning beacon, of pure love
Still strongly, flaming up to thee
I'de be, untill thou doe remove
Mee up, where love. shall perfect be

This grace of love, is mine eye
The thing, I greatly doe desire
For itt the richest pearls, should lye
Under my feett, as durt, and mire

I will desire no greater pleasure
Then in thesse flames, of love to ly
I will seek for, noe richer tresure
Then. wings of love, wheron to fly

If thou'lt not fill me to the brim

Wonders & misterys of devine love

Oh strang, oh wonderfull
Ther is no reason given why
Thou shouldst not let, thy creture lye
Among the sons, of Adams race
Who did fall, from thy love, and grace
From them, thou givst a pull

It makes me stand amaysd
When I somtimes, doe lett thoughts run
Upon the work, that thou hast done
Whilst with amaizment, I doe see
Thy love, and grace. which flows soe free
Therby my wonder's rays'd

Oh separating love
Oh rich, free, distinguishing grace

dedication,

My hart dear Lord, itt is thine own
thou disdst itt make
Tis thine I say, and thine alone
Oh let it of thy grace pertake
and beautifie
it from on high

Thou calst for it, & here, I give
it up to thee
Oh let thy spirit, in it live
And purg out sin, that it may be
the dwelling place
of love, and grace.

Acept the dedication
of this my hart
And lett it be to me made known
by glorys filling ev'ry part
thy love display
on it alway.

Love, September 1 72

Ther is one thing, which I would crave
The which alone, if I might have
it would sufice
And be my heaven, upon earth
Keeping my soull, free from all dearth
Love, is the grace I prize.

T'would be a heav'n in midst of hell
If love enflam'd, in me might dwell
give that to me
And then I shall not, will not care
For this worlds, overgiulded ware
but shall hasten to thee.

Love would my soull from self unty
And teach it sweetly, to deny
it self in what

Infinet love of Christ

What love is this, that bouled in
The breast of our sweet, sacred king.

From ages of eternity
He did resovle, to come, and dye.

That he might fallen man regain
And bring him back, with him to reign.

Oh how this love should make us blush
Thou hadst (deer Lord) no need of us.

To thine esencyall glory we
Could adde nothing, at all to thee.

thou couldst in thine alfullnese dwell
had we been, in the lowest hell.