Whence they doe still behold the glorious face
Of the Divine Eternall Majestie:
More faire is that, where those Idees on hie
Enranged be, which Plato so admired,
And pure Intelligences from God inspired.
Yet fairer is that heaven, in which do raine
The soveraigne powres and mightie potentates,
Which in their high protections doe containe
All mortall princes and imperiall states;
And fairer yet, whereas the royall seates
And heavenly dominations are set,
From whom all earthly governance is fet.'
Yet farre more faire be those bright cherubins,
Which all with golden wings are overdight,
And those eternall burning seraphins,
Which from their faces dart out fierie light;
Yet fairer than they both, and much more bright,
Be the angels and archangels, which attend
On God's owne person, without rest or end.
These thus in fair each other far excelling,
As to the highest they approach more near,
Yet is that highest far beyond all telling,
Fairer than all the rest which there appear,
Though all their beauties joyn'd together were;
How then can mortal tongue hope to express
The image of such endless perfectness ?
Cease then, my tongue! and lend unto my mind Leave to bethinke how great that beautie is, Whose utmost parts so beautifull I find;
How much more those essentiall parts of his, His truth, his love, his wisdome, and his bliss, His grace, his doome, his mercy, and his might, By which he lends us of himselfe a sight!
Those unto all he daily doth display,
And shew himselfe in the image of his grace,
As in a looking-glasse, through which he may
Be seene of all his creatures, vile and base,
That are unable else to see his face,
His glorious face, which glistereth else so bright,
That the angels selves cannot endure his sight.
But we, fraile wights! whose sight cannot sustaine The Sun's bright beames when he on us doth
But that their points rebutted backe againe
Are dul'd, how we can see with feeble eyne
The glorie of that Majestie divine,
In sight of whom both sun and moone are darke,
Compared to his least resplendent sparke ?
The means, therefore, which unto us is lent
Him to behold, is on his workes to looke,
Which he hath made in beauty excellent,
And in the same, as in a brasen booke,
To read enregistred in every nooke
His goodnesse, which his beautie doth declare;
For all that's good is beautifull and faire.
Thence gathering plumes of perfect speculation, To impe' the wings of thy high flying mind, Mount up aloft through heavenly contemplation,
To furnish with new feathers.
From this darke world, whose damps the soule do
And, like the native brood of eagles kynd,
On that bright Sunne of Glorie fixe thine eyes,
Clear'd from grosse mists of fraile infirmities.
Humbled with feare and aw full reverence,
Before the footestoole of his Majestie
Throw thy selfe downe, with trembling innocence,
Ne dare looke up with corruptible eye
On the dred face of that Great Deity,
For feare, lest if he chaunce to look on thee,
Thou turne to nought, and quite confounded bee.
But lowly fall before his mercie seate,
Close covered with the Lambe's integrity
From the just wrath of his avengeful threat
That sits upon the righteous throne on hie;
His throne is built upon eternity,
More firm and durable than steele or brasse,
Or the hard diamond, which them both doth passe.
His scepter is the rod of Righteousness,
With which he bruseth all his foes to dust,
And the great dragon strongly doth represse
Under the rigour of his judgment just;
His seate is Truth, to which the faithfull trust,
From whence proceed her beames so pure and bright
That all about him sheddeth glorious light:
Light, farre exceeding that bright blazing sparke
Which darted is from Titan's flaming head,
That with his beames enlumineth the darke
And dampish air, whereby all things are red;
Whose nature yet so much is marvelled
Of mortall wits, that it doth much amaze
The greatest wisards which thereon do gaze.
But that immortall light, which there doth shine, Is many thousand times more bright, more cleare, More excellent, more glorious more divine, Through which to God, all mortall actions here, And even the thoughts of men, do plaine appeare; For from the Eternall Truth it doth proceed, Through heavenly vertue which her beames doe breed.
With the great glorie of that wondrous light
His throne is all encompassed around,
And hid in his owne brightnesse from the sight
Of all that looke thereon with eyes unsound;
And underneath his feet are to be found
Thunder, and lightning, and tempestuous fire,
The instruments of his avenging ire.
There in his bosome Sapience doth sit,
The soveraine dearling of the Deity,
Clad like a queene in royall robes, most fit
For so great powre and peerelesse majesty,
And all with gemmes and jewels gorgeously
Adorn'd, that brighter than the starres appeare,
And make her native brightness seem more cleare.
And on her head a crown of purest gold
Is set, in sign of highest sovereignty,
And in her hand a sceptre she doth hold,
With which she rules the house of God on high,
And manageth the ever-moving sky,
And in the same these lower creatures all
Subjected to her powre imperial.
Both heaven and earth obey unto her will,
And all the creatures which they both containe;
For of her fulnesse which the world doth fill
They all partake, and do in state remaine,
As their great Maker did at first ordaine,
Through observation of her high beheast,
By which they first were made, and still increast.
The fairnesse of her face no tongue can tell;
For she the daughters of all women's race,
And angels eke,' in beautie doth excell,
Sparkled on her from God's owne glorious face,
And more increast by her owne goodly grace,
That it doth farre exceed all human thought,
Ne can on Earth compared be to ought.
Ne could that painter (had he lived yet)
Which pictur'd Venus with so curious quill,
That all posterity admired it,
Have pourtray'd this, for all his maistring skill;
Ne she herself, had she remained still,
And were as fair as fabling wits do feign,
Could once come near this beauty soveraign.
But had those wits, the wonders of their days,
Or that sweet Teian poet, which did spend
His plenteous vein in setting forth his praise,
Seen but a glimpse of this which I pretend,
How wondrously would he her face commend,
Above that idole of his feigning thought,
That all the world should with his rimes be fraught!
How then dare I, the novice of his art,
Presume to picture so divine a wight,
|