That Light, that Sight, that Thought,

Which in my Soul at first He wrought,

Is sure the only Act to which I may

Assent this day:

The Mirror of an endless Life;

The Shadow of a Virgin-Wife;

A Spiritual Creätion within;

An Universe enclos'd 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 evry thing;

From whence those living Streams I do derive,

By which my thirsty Soul is kept alive.

The Center and the Sphere

Of my Delights are here:

It is my David's Tower

Where all my Armor lies,

The Fountain of my Power,

My Bliss, my Sacrifice;

A little Spark

That shining in the dark

Makes and encorages my Soul to rise.

The Root of Hope, the Golden Chain;

Whose End is, as the Poets feign,

Fasten'd to the very Throne

Of JOVE:

It is a Stone

On which I sit;

An endless Benefit,

That, being made my Regal Throne,

Doth prov

An Oracle of His Eternal Lov.