Fullness
That light, that sight, that thought,
Which in my soul at first He wrought,
Is sure the only act to which I may
Assent to-day:
The mirror of an endless life,
The shadow of a virgin wife,
A spiritual world standing within,
An Universe enclosed in skin,
My power exerted, or my perfect Being,
If not enjoying, yet an act of seeing.
My bliss
Consists in this,
My duty too
In this I view.
It is a fountain or a spring,
Refreshing me in everything.
From whence those living streams I do derive,
By which my thirsty soul is kept alive.
The centre and the sphere
Of my delights are here.
It is my David’s tower
Where all my armour lies,
The fountain of my power,
My bliss, my sacrifice:
A little spark
That shining in the dark,
Makes and encourages my soul to rise,
The root of hope, the golden chain,
Whose end is, as the poets feign,
Fastened to the very throne
Of Jove.
It is a stone,
On which I sit,
An endless benefit,
That being made my regal throne,
Doth prove
An Oracle of His Eternal Love.