Tears, though they’re here below the sinner’s brine,

My story tells, by Love they wereTurn’d to these springs which we see here:The pretty whimpering that they make,When of the banks their leave they take,Tells ye but this, they are the same,In nothing changed but in their name.

Such be our gifts, and such be our expense,As for ourselves to leave some frankince

But unamazed dares clearly sing,Whenas the roof’s a-tottering;And though it falls, continues stillTickling the Cittern with his quill.

Tears and terrors are our themes,Reciting:But when once from hence we fly,More and more approaching nighUnto young eternity,UnitingIn that whiter Island, whereThings are evermore sincere:Candour here, and lustre there,Delighting:–There no monstrous fancies shallOut of hell an horror call,To create, or cause at allAffrighting.There, in calm and cooling sleep,We our eyes shall never steep,But eternal watch…