These Hands are Jewels to the Ey,

Like Wine, or Oil, or Hony, to the Taste:

These Feet which here I wear beneath the Sky

Are us'd, yet never waste.

My Members all do yield a sweet Perfume;

They minister Delight, yet not consume.

Ye living Gems, how Tru! how Near!

How Reall, Useful, Pleasant! O how Good!

How Valuable! yea, how Sweet! how Fair!

B'ing once well understood!

Gem retains its Worth by being intire,

Sweet Scents diffus'd do gratify Desire.

Can melting Sugar sweeten Wine?

Can Light communicated keep its Name?

Can Jewels solid be, tho they do shine?

Embody'd Fire flame?

Ye solid are, and yet do Light dispence;

Abide the same, tho yield an Influence.

Your Uses flow while ye abide:

The Services which I from you receiv

Like sweet Infusions throu me daily glide

Ev'n while they Sense deceiv,

B'ing unobserv'd: for only Spirits see

What Treasures Services and Uses be.

The Services which from you flow

Are such diffusiv Joys as know no measure;

Which shew His boundless Lov who did bestow

These Gifts to be my Treasure.

Your Substance is the Tree on which it grows;

Your Uses are the Oil that from it flows.

Thus Hony flows from Rocks of Stone;

Thus Oil from Wood; thus Cider, Milk, and Wine,

From Trees and Flesh; thus Corn from Earth; to one

That's hev'nly and divine.

But He that cannot like an Angel see,

In Heven its self shall dwell in Misery.

If first I learn not what's Your Price

Which are alive, and are to me so near;

How shall I all the Joys of Paradise,

Which are so Great and Dear,

Esteem? Gifts ev'n at distance are our Joys,

But lack of Sense the Benefit destroys.