RICHARD CRASHAW
All thy good works which went before,
And waited for thee at the door,
Shall own thee there; and all in one
Weave a constellation
Of ciowns, with which the King, thy spouse,
Shall build up thy triumphant brows.
All thy old woes shall now smile on thee,
And thy pains sit bright upon thee
All thy sorrows here bhall shine,
And thy sufferings be divine,
Tears shall take comfort, and turn gems,
And wrongs repent to diadems.
Even thy deaths shall live, and new
Dress the soul which late they slew.
Thy wounds shall blush to such bright scars
As keep account of the Lamb's wars.
Those rare works, where thou shalt leave wiit Love's noble history, with wit Taught thee by none but Him, while here They feed our souls, shall clothe thine there. Each heavenly word by whose hid flame Our hard hearts shall strike fire, the same Shall flourish on thy brows, and be Both fire to us and flame to thee , Whose light shall live bright in thy face By glory, in our hearts by grace. Thou shalt look round about, and see Thousands of crown 'd souls throng to be Themselves thy crown, sons of thy vows, The virgin-births with which thy spouse Made fruitful thy fair soul; go now,
�� �
