Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

Nicholson & Lee, eds. The Oxford Book of English Mystical Verse. 1917.

28. A Hymn to the Name and Honor of the Admirable Sainte Teresa

Of Life and Death. To prove the word,

Wee’l now appeal to none of all

Those thy old Souldiers, Great and tall,

Ripe Men of Martyrdom, that could reach down

With strong armes, their triumphant crown;

Such as could with lusty breath

Speak lowd into the face of death

Their Great Lord’s glorious names, to none

Of those whose spatious Bosomes spread a throne

For Love at larg to fill, spare blood and sweat;

And see him take a private seat,

Making his mansion in the mild

And milky soul of a soft child.

Scarse has she learn’t to lisp the name

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 doe;

Nor has she e’re yet understood

Why to show love, she should shed blood

Yet though she cannot tell you why,

She can Love, and she can Dy.

Scarse has she Blood enough to make

A guilty sword blush for her sake;

Yet has she’a Heart dares hope to prove

How much lesse strong is Death then Love.

Be love but there; let poor six yeares

Be pos’d with the maturest Feares

Man trembles at, you straight shall find

Love knowes no nonage, nor the Mind.

’Tis Love, not Yeares or Limbs that can

Make the Martyr, or the man.

Love touch’t her Heart, and lo it beates

High, and burnes with such brave heates;

Such thirsts to dy, as dares drink up,

A thousand cold deaths in one cup.

Good reason. For she breathes All fire.

Her weake brest heaves with strong desire

Of what she may with fruitles wishes

Seek for amongst her Mother’s kisses.

Since ’tis not to be had at home

She’l travail to à Martyrdom.

No home for hers confesses she

But where she may à Martyr be.

Sh’el to the Moores; And trade with them,

For this unvalued Diadem.

She’l offer them her dearest Breath,

With Christ’s Name in’t, in change for death.

Sh’el bargain with them; and will give

Them God; teach them how to live

In him: or, if they this deny,

For him she’l teach them how to Dy.

So shall she leave amongst them sown

Her Lord’s Blood; or at lest her own.

Farewel then, all the world! Adieu.

Teresa is no more for you.

Farewell, all pleasures, sports, and ioyes,

(Never till now esteemed toyes)

Farewell what ever deare may be,

Mother’s armes of Father’s knee.

Farewell house, and farewell home!

She’s for the Moores, and Martyrdom.

Sweet, not so fast! lo thy fair Spouse

Whom thou seekst with so swift vowes,

Calls thee back, and bidds thee come

T’embrace a milder Martyrdom.

Blest powres forbid, Thy tender life

Should bleed upon a barborous knife;

Or some base hand have power to race

Thy Brest’s chast cabinet, and uncase

A soul kept there so sweet, ô no;

Wise heavn will never have it so.

Thou art love’s victime; and must dy

A death more mysticall and high.

Into love’s armes thou shalt let fall

A still-surviving funerall.

His is the Dart must make the Death

Whose stroke shall tast thy hallow’d breath;

A Dart thrice dip’t in that rich flame

Which writes thy spouse’s radiant Name

Upon the roof of Heav’n; where ay

It shines, and with a soveraign ray

Beates bright upon the burning faces

Of soules which in that name’s sweet graces

Find everlasting smiles. So rare,

So spirituall, pure, and fair

Must be th’immortall instrument

Upon whose choice point shall be sent

A life so lov’d; And that there be

Fitt executioners for Thee,

The fair’st and first-born sons of fire

Blest Seraphim, shall leave their quire

And turn love’s souldiers, upon Thee

To exercise their archerie.

O how oft shalt thou complain

Of a sweet and subtle Pain.

Of intolerable Ioyes;

Of a Death, in which who dyes

Loves his death, and dyes again.

And would for ever so be slain.

And lives, and dyes; and knowes not why

To live, But that he thus may never leave to Dy.

How kindly will thy gentle Heart

Kisse the sweetly-killing Dart!

And close in his embraces keep

Those delicious Wounds, that weep

Balsom to heal themselves with. Thus

When These thy Deaths, so numerous,

Shall all at last dy into one,

And melt thy Soul’s sweet mansion;

Like a soft lump of incense, hasted

By too hott a fire, and wasted

Into perfuming clouds, so fast

Shalt thou exhale to Heavn at last

In a resolving Sigh, and then

O what? Ask not the Tongues of men.

Angells cannot tell, suffice,

Thy selfe shall feel thine own full ioyes

And hold them fast for ever there

So soon as you first appear,

The Moon of maiden starrs, thy white

Mistresse, attended by such bright

Soules as thy shining self, shall come

And in her first rankes make thee room;

Where ’mongst her snowy family

Immortall wellcomes wait for thee.

O what delight, when reveal’d Life shall stand

And teach thy lipps heav’n with his hand;

On which thou now maist to thy wishes

Heap up thy consecrated kisses.

What ioyes shall seize thy soul, when she

Bending her blessed eyes on thee

(Those second Smiles of Heav’n) shall dart

Her mild rayes through thy melting heart!

Angels, thy old freinds, there shall greet thee

Glad at their own home now to meet thee.

All thy good Workes which went before

And waited for thee, at the door,

Shall own thee there; and all in one

Weave a constellation

Of Crowns, with which the King thy spouse

Shall build up thy triumphant browes.

All thy old woes shall now smile on thee

And thy paines sitt bright upon thee,

All thy sorrows here shall shine.

All thy Suffrings be divine.

Teares shall take comfort, and turn gemms

And Wrongs repent to Diademms.

Ev’n thy Death shall live; and new

Dresse the soul that erst they slew.

Thy wounds shall blush to such bright scarres

As keep account of the Lamb’s warres.

Those rare Workes where thou shalt leave writt

Love’s noble history, with witt

Taught thee by none but him, while here

They feed our soules, shall cloth Thine there.

Each heavnly word by whose hid flame

Our hard Hearts shall strike fire, the same

Shall flourish on thy browes, 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 Soules throng to be

Themselves thy crown. Sons of thy vowes

The virgin-births with which thy soveraign spouse

Made fruitfull thy fair soul, goe now

And with them all about thee bow

To Him, put on (hee’l say) put on

(My rosy love) That thy rich zone

Sparkling with the sacred flames

Of thousand soules, whose happy names

Heav’n keep upon thy score. (Thy bright

Life brought them first to kisse the light

That kindled them to starrs.) and so

Thou with the Lamb, thy lord, shalt goe;

And whereso’ere he setts his white

Stepps, walk with Him those wayes of light

Which who in death would live to see,

Must learn in life to dy like thee.