| WITH what deep murmurs through times silent stealth | |
| Doth thy transparent, cool and watry wealth | |
| Here flowing fall, | |
| And chide, and call, | |
| As if his liquid, loose Retinue staid | 5 |
| Lingring, and were of this steep place afraid, | |
| The common pass | |
| Where, clear as glass, | |
| All must descend | |
| Not to an end: | 10 |
| But quickned by this deep and rocky grave, | |
| Rise to a longer course more bright and brave. | |
| |
| Dear stream! dear bank, where often I | |
| Have sate, and pleas'd my pensive eye, | |
| Why, since each drop of thy quick store | 15 |
| Runs thither, whence it flow'd before, | |
| Should poor souls fear a shade or night, | |
| Who came (sure) from a sea of light? | |
| Or since those drops are all sent back | |
| So sure to thee, that none doth lack, | 20 |
| Why should frail flesh doubt any more | |
| That what God takes, hee'l not restore? | |
| |
| O useful Element and clear! | |
| My sacred wash and cleanser here, | |
| My first consigner unto those | 25 |
| Fountains of life, where the Lamb goes? | |
| What sublime truths, and wholesome themes, | |
| Lodge in thy mystical, deep streams! | |
| Such as dull man can never finde | |
| Unless that Spirit lead his minde, | 30 |
| Which first upon thy face did move, | |
| And hatch'd all with his quickning love. | |
| As this loud brooks incessant fall | |
| In streaming rings restagnates all, | |
| Which reach by course the bank, and then | 35 |
| Are no more seen, just so pass men. | |
| O my invisible estate, | |
| My glorious liberty, still late! | |
| Thou art the Channel my soul seeks, | |
| Not this with Cataracts and Creeks. | 40 |
| |
