40. The Dwelling-place

WHAT happy, secret fountain,

Fair shade, or mountain,

Whose undiscover’d virgin glory

Boasts it this day, though not in story,

Was then thy dwelling? did some cloud

Fix’d to a Tent, descend and shrowd

My distrest Lord? or did a star,

Becken’d by thee, though high and far,

In sparkling smiles haste gladly down

To lodge light, and increase her own?

My dear, dear God! I do not know

What lodgd thee then, nor where, nor how;

But I am sure, thou dost now come

Oft to a narrow, homely room,

Where thou too hast but the least part,

My God, I mean my sinful heart.