Henry Charles Beeching, ed. (1859–1919). Lyra Sacra: A Book of Religious Verse. 1903.
By Richard Crashaw (1613?1640)To the Name above every Name, the Name of Jesus: A Hymn
I SING the Name which none can say, | |
But touch’d with an interior ray; | |
The Name of our new peace, our good, | |
Our bliss, and supernatural blood. | |
The Name of all our lives and loves. | 5 |
Hearken and help, ye holy doves, | |
The high-born brood of day, the bright | |
Candidates of blissful light, | |
The heirs-elect of love, whose names belong | |
Unto the everlasting life of song; | 10 |
All ye wise souls, who in the wealthy breast | |
Of this unbounded Name build your warm nest; | |
Awake my glory, soul (if such thou be | |
And that fair word at all refer to thee), | |
Awake and sing | 15 |
And be all wing, | |
Bring hither thy whole self, and let me see | |
What of thy parent Heaven yet speaks in thee; | |
O thou art poor | |
Of noble powers, I see, | 20 |
And full of nothing else but empty me, | |
Narrow, and low, and infinitely less | |
Than this great morning’s mighty business. | |
One little word or two | |
(Alas) will never do; | 25 |
We must have store, | |
Go, soul, out of thyself, and seek for more; | |
Go and request | |
Great Nature for the key of her huge chest | |
Of heav’ns, the self-involving set of spheres, | 30 |
Which dull mortality more feels than hears; | |
Then rouse the nest | |
Of nimble art, and traverse round | |
The airy shop of soul-appeasing sound, | |
And beat a summons in the same | 35 |
All Sovereign Name, | |
To warn each several kind | |
And shape of sweetness, be they such | |
As sigh with supple wind, | |
Or answer artful touch, | 40 |
That they convene and come away, | |
To wait at the love-crowned doors of this illustrious day. | |
Shall we dare this, my soul? we’ll do’t and bring | |
No other note for’t but the Name we sing. | |
Wake, lute and harp, | 45 |
And every sweet-lipt thing | |
That talks with tuneful string | |
Start into life: and leap with me | |
Into a habit fit of self-tuned harmony; | |
Nor must you think it much | 50 |
T’ obey my bolder touch. | |
I have authority in Love’s name to take you, | |
And to the work of Love this morning wake you; | |
Wake in the Name | |
Of Him who never sleeps, all things that are, | 55 |
Or, what’s the same, | |
Are musical, | |
Answer my call | |
And come along, | |
Help me to meditate mine immortal song. | 60 |
Come, ye soft ministers of sweet sad mirth, | |
Bring all your household stuff of heav’n on earth; | |
O you my soul’s most certain wings, | |
Complaining pipes, and prattling strings, | |
Bring all the store | 65 |
Of sweets you have, and murmur that you have no more. | |
Come, lovely Name, appear forth from the bright | |
Regions of peaceful light, | |
Look from Thine own illustrious home, | |
Fair King of Names, and come, | 70 |
Leave all Thy native glories in their gorgeous nest, | |
And give Thyself awhile the gracious guest | |
Of humble souls, that seek to find | |
The hidden sweets | |
Which man’s heart meets, | 75 |
When Thou art master of the mind. | |
Come, lovely Name, life of our hope! | |
Lo, we hold our hearts wide ope! | |
Unlock Thy cabinet of day, | |
Dearest sweet, and come away. | 80 |
Lo, how the thirsty lands | |
Gasp for thy golden showers, with long-stretched hands! | |
Lo, how the labouring earth, | |
That hopes to be | |
All heavens by Thee, | 85 |
Leaps at Thy birth. | |
Come, royal Name, and pay th’ expense | |
Of all Thy precious patience. | |
O! come away, | |
And kill the death of this delay. | 90 |
O! see so many worlds of barren years | |
Melted, and measured out in seas of tears; | |
O! see the weary lids of wakeful hope | |
(Love’s eastern windows) all wide ope | |
With curtains drawn, | 95 |
To catch the daybreak of Thy dawn; | |
O! dawn at last, long-look’d-for day, | |
Take thine own wings and come away. | |
Sweet Name, in Thy each syllable | |
A thousand blest Arabias dwell, | 100 |
A thousand hills of frankincense; | |
Mountains of myrrh, and beds of spices, | |
And ten thousand paradises | |
The soul that tastes Thee takes from thence. | |
How many unknown worlds there are | 105 |
Of comforts which Thou hast in keeping! | |
How many thousand mercies there, | |
In Pity’s lost lap, lie a-sleeping! | |
Happy he who has the art | |
To awake them, | 110 |
And to take them | |
Home and lodge them in his heart. | |
O that it were as it was wont to be! | |
When Thy old friends of fire, all full of Thee, | |
Fought against frowns with smiles, gave glorious chase | 115 |
To persecutions, and against the face | |
Of death and fiercest dangers durst with brave | |
And sober pace march on to meet a grave. | |
On their bold breasts about the world they bore Thee, | |
And to the teeth of hell stood up to teach Thee: | 120 |
In centre of their inmost souls they wore Thee, | |
Where racks and torments strived in vain to reach Thee. | |
Little, alas! thought they | |
Who tore the fair breasts of thy friends, | |
Their fury but made way | 125 |
For Thee; and served therein Thy glorious ends. | |
What did their weapons but set wide the doors | |
For Thee? Fair purple doors of Love’s devising; | |
The ruby windows which enriched the east | |
Of Thy so oft-repeated rising. | 130 |
Each wound of theirs was Thy new morning; | |
And re-enthroned Thee in Thy rosy nest, | |
With blush of Thine own blood Thy day adorning. | |
It was the wit of love o’erflowed the bounds | |
Of wrath, and made Thee way through all those wounds. | 135 |