Flow tardy founts, and into decent showers

Diffolve my days and hours,

And if thou yet (faint foul) defer

Help, Lord, my hope increase; And fill my portion in thy peace. Give love for life, nor let my days,

Vill.

O! let me fuck the wine

So long of this chafte vine,

Till drunk of thy dear wounds I be
A loft thing to the world as it to me,
O faithful friend

Of me and of my end,

Let my life end in love, and lie beneath
Thy dear loft vital death,

Lo heart, thy hope's whole plea, her precious breath, [death. Pour'd out in prayers for thee, in thy Lord's

The Hymn of St. Thomas, in Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament.

WITH all the pow'rs my poor heart hath

Of humble love and loyal faith,

Thus low (my hidden life!) I bow to thee,

O dear memorial of that death
Which lives ftill, and allows us breath;

Rich, royal food! bountiful bread!
Whofe ufe denies us to the dead;
Whofe vital guft alone can give
The fame leave both to eat and live;
Live ever Bread of loves, and be
My life, my foul, my furer felf to me.

O foft felf-wounding pelican!
Whole breaft weeps balm for wounded man?
Ah this way bend thy benign flood,
To a bleeding heart that gasps for blood;
That blood, whofe leaft drops fovereign be
To wash my worlds of fins from me.

Come love! come Lord! and that long day
For which I languish, come away.
When this dry foul those eyes shall see,
And drink the unfeal'd source of thee.
When glory's fun faith's fhade fhall chase,
Then for thy veil give me thy face. Amen.

The Hymn of the Blessed Sacrament-Lauda Sion
Salvatorum,

1.

RISE, royal Sion! Rife and fing

Thy foul's kind Shepherd, thy heart's King.

mé.

Down, down, proud fenfe! difcourfes die,
Keep close, my foul's inquiring eye!
Nor touch nor tafte must look for more,
But each fit ftill in his own door.

Your ports are all fuperfluous here,
Save that which lets in faith, the ear.
Faith is my fkill; faith can believe
As fast as love new laws can give.
Faith is my force; faith ftrength affords
To keep pace with thofe pow'rful words:
And words more fure, more sweet than they,
Love could not think, truth could not fay.

O! let thy wretch find that relief,
Thou didst afford the faithful thief;
Flead for me, Love! allege and show
That faith has farther, here, to go,
And lefs to lean on; because then
Though hid as God, wounds writ thee man,
Thomas might touch; none but might fee
At least the fuff'ring fide of thee;

And that too was thyfelf which thee did cover,

But here ev'n that's hid too which hides the other.

Sweet! confider then, that I
Though allow'd not hand nor eye
To teach at thy lov'd face; nor can
Tafte thee, God, or touch thee man;
Both yet believe and witness thee

My Lord too, and my God, as loud as he.

Harps of heaven, and hands of man. This fovereign subject fits above The best ambitions of thy love.

Those mercies which thy Mary found, Or who thy cross confefs'd and crown'd;

the Day of Judgment.

1.

HEAR'ST thou, my foul, what ferious things, Both the Plajm and Sybil fings,

Still alive, and still for me.

XIV.

Though both my prayers and tears combine, Both worthless are, for they are mine;

But thou thy bounteous self still be, And show thou art, by faving me.

XV.

O! when thy laft frown fhall proclaim The flocks of goats, to folds of flame, And all thy loft sheep found shall be, Let come ye bleffed, then call me.

XVI.

When the dread Ite, shall divide
Thofe limbs of death, from thy left fide;
Let thofe life-fpeaking lips command,
That I inherit the right hand.

XVII.

O! hear a suppliant heart all crush't,
And crumbled into contrite duft:
My hope, my fear, my judge, my friend,
Take charge of me, and of my end.

The Hymn.-0 Gloriofa Domina.
HAIL, moft high, most humble one!
Above the world; below thy Son,
Whose blush the moon beauteously mars,
And ftains the timerous light of stars.
He that made all things had not done,
Till he had made himself thy Son.
The whole world's hoft would be thy guest,
And board himself at thy rich breaft;
O boundless hofpitality!

The feast of all things feeds on thee.
The first Eve, mother of our fall,
E'er the bore any one, flew all.
Of her unkind gift might we have
The inheritance of a hafty grave;
Quick buried in the wanton tomb
Of one forbidden bit;
Had not a better fruit forbidden it;
Had not thy healthful womb

'The world's new eastern window been,
And given us heaven again in giving him.
Thine was the rofy dawn that sprung the day,
Which renders all the stars she stole away.

Let then the aged world be wife, and all
Prove nobly, here, unnatural:
'Tis gratitude to forget that other,
And call the maiden Eve their mother.

Ye redeem'd nations far and near,
Applaud your happy felves in her,
(All you to whom this love belongs)
And keep't alive with lafting songs.

Let hearts and lips fpeak loud, and say,
Hail, door of life, and fource of day!
The door was fhut, the fountain feal'd;
Yet light was feen and life reveal'd;
The fountain feal'd, yet life found way.
Glory to thee, great virgin's Soɔn,
In bofom of thy Father's blifs:

The fame to thee, fweet Spirit be done;
As ever fhall be, was, and is, Amen.

The Flaming Heart, upon the look and Picture of the Seraphical Saint Teresa, as fee is usually expreffed with a Seraphim befide ber.

WELL, meaning readers! you that come as friends, And catch the precious name this piece pretends, Make not so much hate to admire.

That fair check'd fallacy of fire,

That is a feraphim they say,
And this the great Terefia.
Readers be rul'd by me, and make
Here a well plac'd, and wife mistake.
You must tranfpofe the picture quite,
And fpell it wrong to read it right;
And him for her, and her for him,
And call the faint, the seraphim.
Painter, what did'st thou understand
To put her dart into his hand?
See, even the years, and fize of him,
Shew this the mother feraphim.

This is the mistress flame; and duteous he

Her happier fire-works, here, comes down to fee.

O moft poor fpirited of men!

Had thy cold pencil kist her pen,
Thou could'st not fo unkindly err,
To fhow us this faint fhade for her.
Why man, this speaks pure mortal frame,

And mocks with female froft love's manly flame.
One would fufpect thou mean'ft to paint,
Some weak, inferior, woman faint.
But had thy pale-fac'd purple took

Fire from the burning cheeks of that bright book,
Thou would'ft on her have heap't up all
That could be form'd feraphical.

But e'er this youth of fire wore fair
Rofy fingers, radiant hair.
Glowing cheeks, and glift'ring wings,
All thofe, fair and flagrant things;
But before all, that fiery dart,

She fill'd the hand of this great heart.
Do then as equal right requires,

Since his the blufhes be, and her's the fires;
Refume and rectify thy rude defign,
Undress thy feraphim into mine,
Redeem this injury of thy art,

Give him the veil, give her the dart,
Give him the veil, that he may cover

The red cheeks of a rival'd lover;
Afham'd that our world now can fhow
Nefts of new seraphims here below.
Give her the dart, for it is fhe-

(Fair youth) fhoots both thy fhafts and thee.
Say, all ye wife and well pierc'd hearts
That live, and die amid'ft her darts;
What is't your tafteful spirits do prove
In that rare life of her, andi ove!
Say, and bear witness. Sends fhe not,
A feraphim at every shot?

What magazines of immortal arms there shine!
Heav'ns great artillery in each love-fpun-line.
Give then the dart to her, who gives the flame;
Give him the veil, who kindly takes the shame.
But if it be the frequent fate
Of worst faults to be fortunate;
If all's prefcription, and proud wrong
Hearkens not to an humble fong;
For all the gallantry of him,

Give me the fuff'ring feraphim.

His be the bravery of all those bright things,
The glowing cheeks, the glittering wings
The rofy hand, the radiant dart,

Leave her alone the flaming heart.

Leave her that, and thou fhalt leave her,
Not one loose shaft, but Love's whole quiver.
For in Love's field was never found,
A nobler weapon than a wound.
Love's paffives are his activ'ft part,
The wounded is the wounding heart.

O heart! the equal poife of Love's both parts,
Big alike with wounds and darts,
Live in thefe conquering leaves; live all the fame
And walk through all tongues one triumphant
flame.

Live here great heart; and love, and die, and kill,
And bleed, and wound, and yield, and conquer still.
Let this immortal life, where'er it comes,
Walk in a crowd of Loves, and martyrdoms.
Let mystic deaths wait on't; and wife souls be,
The love-flame-witneffes of this life of thee.

To Mrs. M. R. Counsel concerning ber Choice. DEAR, heav'n-defigned foul!

Among'st the rest

=Of fuiters that befiege your maiden breast, Why may not I

My fortune try,

And venture to fpeak one good word,
Not for myself, alas! but for my dearer Lord?
You've seen already in this lower sphere,
Of froth and bubbles what to look for here;
Say, gentle foul, what can you find,
But painted fhapes,
Peacocks and apes,
Illuftrious flies,

Gilded dunghills, glorious lies,
Goodly furmifes

And deep difguifes,

Oaths of water, words of wind?

Truth bids me fay, 'tis time you cease to trust, Your foul to any fon of duft;

'Tis time you listen to a braver love,

Which from above,

Calls you up higher,
And bids you come,
And choose your room,

Among his own fair fons of fire,

Where you among,
The golden throng,

That watches at his palace doors,

May pass along

And follow thofe fair stars of yours;
Stars much too fair and pure to wait upon,
The falfe fmiles of a fublunary fun.

Sweet, let me prophefy, that at last 'twill prove
Your wary love

Lays up his purer, and most precious vows,
And means them for a far more worthy spouse,
Then this world of lies can give ye.

Ev'n for him, with whom nor coft,
Nor love, nor labour can be loft;

Him who never will deceive ye.
Let not my Lord, the mighty lover
Of fouls difdain, that I discover
The hidden art
his high ftratagem to win your heart,
It was his heav'nly art,

I, LATE the Roman youths loud praise and pride, Whom long none could obtain, though thousands try'd,

Lo, here am left (alas!) for my loft mate

T' embrace my tears, and kiss an unkind fate.
Sure in my early woes ftars were at ftrife,
And tried to make a widow ere a wife:
Nor can I tell (and this new tears doth breed)
In what ftrange path my lord's fair footsteps bleed.
O! knew I where he wander'd, I would fee
Some folace in my forrows certainty.

I'd fend my woes in words fhould weep for me,
(Who knows how powerful well-writ prayers
would be :)

Sending's too flow a word. Myself would fly.
Who knows my own heart's woes fo well as I:
But how fhall I fteal hence? Alexis, thou,
Ah, thou thyself, alas! haft taught me how.
Love, too, that leads the way, would lend the wings
To bear me harmless through the hardest things,
And where love lends the wing and leads the way,
What dangers can there be dare fay me nay?
If I be shipwreck'd, love shall teach to swim;
If drown'd, fweet is the death endur'd for him.
The noted fea fhall change its name with me;
I'mongst the blest stars a new name fhall be.
And fure when lovers make their watʼry graves
The weeping mariner will augment the waves.
For who fo hard, but paffing by that way,
Will take acquaintance of my woes, and fay
Here 'twas the Roman maid found a hard fate,
While through the world the fought her wand'ring

mate;

Here perish'd fhe, poor heart, heavens, be my vows
As true to me, as she was to her spouse.
O live, fo rare a love! live! And in thee
The too frail life of female conftancy.
Farewell, and fhine, fair foul! Shine there above
Firm in thy crown, as here fast in thy love;
There thy loft fugitive th' haft found at last;
Be happy, and for ever hold him fast.
Elegy 11.

THOUGH all the joys I had filed hence with thee,
Unkind! yet are my tears ftill true to me.
I'm wedded o'er again, fince thou art gone,
Nor could't thou, cruel, leave me quite alone.
Alexis widow now is Sorrow's wife,
With him shall I weep out my weary life.