A Contemplation
Indulg'd by ev'ry active thought
When upwards they wou'd fly
Nor can Ambition be a fault
If plac'd above the sky
When humbld first we meekly crave
Remission for the past
We from the fore-tasts which we have
May guesse our Joys at last
Then let my Contemplation soar
And Heav'n my Subject be
Though low on Earth in nature poor
Some prospect we may see
And now that scene before me stands
And large Possessions there
Where none usurps anothers Lands {1}
And Theives we do not fear
All Care all Sorrow all Surprise
Fly from that World of peace
Where tears are wip'd from clouded Eyes
And Sighs for ever cease
Decay or Sicknesse find no place
In that untainted Air
But still th'incorruptable Face {2}
Shall as at first be fair
Agility in pace or flight
The Blessed shall convey
Where e're the Lamb more fair then light {3}
Shall lead the radiant way
Whilst Praises in Seraphick Sounds {4}
The blisful road shall trace
And musick seem to passe the bounds
Even of unbounded Space
Such balmy Odours shall disperse
As from the Bridegroom's pores {5}
The holy Canticles rehearse {6}
Fell on the Bolts and Doors
When to his Spouse the well belov'd
More white then Jordans Flocks {7}
Spake whilest her hand the Barrs remov'd
And dew-drops fill'd his locks
The Crosse shall there triumphant rise
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poem by Anne Kingsmill Finch
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