Henry Charles Beeching, ed. (1859–1919). Lyra Sacra: A Book of Religious Verse. 1903.
By Richard Crashaw (1613?1640)A Hymn to S. Teresa
LOVE, thou art absolute sole lord | |
Of life and death. To prove the word, | |
We’ll now appeal to none of all | |
Those thy old soldiers, great and tall, | |
Ripe men of martyrdom, that could reach down | 5 |
With strong arms their triumphant crown: | |
Such as could with lusty breath | |
Speak loud into the face of death | |
Their great Lord’s glorious name; to none | |
Of those whose spacious bosoms spread a throne | 10 |
For love at large to fill: spare blood and sweat; | |
We’ll see him take a private seat, | |
Making his mansion in the mild | |
And milky soul of a soft child. | |
Scarce hath she learn’d to lisp the name | 15 |
Of martyr; yet she thinks it shame | |
Life should so long play with that breath, | |
Which spent can buy so brave a death. | |
She never undertook to know | |
What death with love should have to do; | 20 |
Nor hath she e’er yet understood, | |
Why to show love, she should shed blood; | |
Yet though she cannot tell you why, | |
She can love, and she can die. | |
Scarce hath she blood enough to make | 25 |
A guilty sword blush for her sake; | |
Yet hath she a heart dare hope to prove, | |
How much less strong is death than love. | |
Since ’tis not to be had at home, | |
She’ll travel for a martyrdom. | 30 |
No home for her, confesses she, | |
But where she may a martyr be. | |
She’ll to the Moors, and trade with them | |
For this unvalued diadem; | |
She’ll offer them her dearest breath, | 35 |
With Christ’s name in’t, in change for death. | |
She’ll bargain with them, and will give | |
Them God, and teach them how to live | |
In Him; or if they this deny, | |
For Him she’ll teach them how to die. | 40 |
So shall she leave amongst them sown | |
Her Lord’s blood, or at least her own. | |
Farewell, then, all the world! adieu, | |
Teresa is no more for you: | |
Farewell all pleasures, sports, and joys, | 45 |
(Never till now esteemèd toys): | |
Farewell whatever dear may be, | |
Mother’s arms, or father’s knee: | |
Farewell house, and farewell home, | |
She’s for the Moors and martyrdom. | 50 |
Sweet, not so fast! lo, thy fair spouse, | |
Whom thou seek’st with so swift vows, | |
Calls thee back, and bids thee come, | |
T’ embrace a milder martyrdom. | |
O how oft shalt thou complain | 55 |
Of a sweet and subtle pain! | |
Of intolerable joys! | |
Of a death in which who dies | |
Loves his death, and dies again, | |
And would for ever so be slain! | 60 |
And lives, and dies; and knows not why | |
To live, but that he thus may never leave to die. | |
How kindly will thy gentle heart | |
Kiss the sweetly-killing dart? | |
And close in thine embraces keep | 65 |
Those delicious wounds that weep | |
Balsam to heal themselves with. Thus | |
When these thy deaths so numerous, | |
Shall all at last die into one, | |
And melt thy soul’s sweet mansion; | 70 |
Like a soft lump of incense hasted | |
By too hot a fire, and wasted | |
Into perfuming clouds, so fast | |
Shall thou exhale to heav’n at last, | |
In a resolving sigh, and then, | 75 |
O what?—ask not the tongues of men. | |
Angels cannot tell. Suffice, | |
Thyself shall feel thine own full joys, | |
And hold them fast for ever. There, | |
So soon as thou shall first appear, | 80 |
The moon of maiden stars, thy white | |
Mistress attended by such bright | |
Souls as thy shining self, shall come, | |
And in her first ranks make thee room, | |
Where ’mongst her snowy family, | 85 |
Immortal welcomes wait for thee. | |
O what delight when she shall stand | |
And teach thy lips heav’n with her hand, | |
On which thou now may’st to thy wishes, | |
Heap up thy consecrated kisses! | 90 |
What joys shall seize thy soul, when she, | |
Bending her blessed eyes on thee | |
(Those second smiles of heav’n) shall dart | |
Her mild rays through thy melting heart! | |
Angels, thy old friends, there shall greet thee, | 95 |
Glad at their own home now to meet thee. | |
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 | 100 |
Of crowns, 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 shall shine, | 105 |
And all thy suff’rings be divine; | |
Tears shall take comfort and turn gems, | |
And wrongs repent to diadems. | |
Ev’n thy deaths shall live, and new | |
Dress the soul that erst they slew. | 110 |
Thy wounds shall blush to such bright scars, | |
As keep account of the Lamb’s wars. | |
Those rare works where thou shalt leave writ | |
Love’s noble history, with wit | |
Taught thee by none but Him, while here | 115 |
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; | 120 |
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, | 125 |
The virgin-births, with which thy sovereign spouse | |
Made fruitful thy fair soul. Go now, | |
And with them all about thee, bow | |
To Him; put on (He’ll say) put on, | |
My rosy love, that thy rich zone, | 130 |
Sparkling with the sacred flames | |
Of thousand souls whose happy names | |
Heav’n keeps upon thy score (thy bright | |
Life brought them first to kiss the light, | |
That kindled then to stars) and so | 135 |
Thou with the Lamb, thy Lord, shalt go, | |
And whereso’er He sets His white | |
Steps, walk with Him those ways of light; | |
Which who in death would live to see, | |
Must learn in life to die like thee. | 140 |