As the hart panteth after the water-brooks, so panteth my soul after thee, O God.

How shall my tongue express that hallow'd fire, Which Heav'n hath kindled in my ravish'd

heart!

What muse shall I invoke, that will inspire
My lowly quill to act a lofty part!

What art shall I devise t' express desire,
Too intricate to be express'd by art!

Let all the nine be silent; I refuse

Their aid in this high task, for they abuse The flames of love too much: assist me, David's

muse.

Not as the thirsty soil desires soft show'rs
To quicken and refresh her embryon grain;
Nor as the drooping crests of fading flow'rs
Request the bounty of a morning rain,
Do I desire my GoD: these in few hours
Rewish what late their wishes did obtain ;

But as the swift-foot hart doth wounded fly To th' much desired streams, even so do I Pant after thee, my God, whom I must find, or die.

Before a pack of deep-mouth'd lusts I flee;

O, they have singled out my panting heart, And wanton Cupid, sitting in the tree,

Hath pierc'd my bosom with a flaming dart;
My soul being spent, for refuge seeks to thee,
But cannot find where thou my refuge art:

Like as the swift-foot hart doth wounded fly
To the desired streams, e'en so do I

Pant after thee, my GOD, whom I must find, or die.

At length, by flight, I overwent the pack;

Thou drew'st the wanton dart from out my wound;

The blood that follow'd left a purple track, Which brought a serpent, but in shape a hound;

We strove, he bit me; but thou break'st his back, I left him grov'ling on th' envenom'd ground: But as the serpent-bitten hart doth fly

To the long long'd-for streams, e'en so do I Pant after thee, my GOD, whom I must find or die.

If lust should chase my soul, made swift by fright, Thou art the stream whereto my soul is bound: Or if a jav'lin wound my sides in flight,

Thou art the balsam that must cure my wound: If poison chance t' infest my soul in fight,

Thou art the treacle that must make me sound: E'en as the wounded hart, embost, doth fly To th' streams extremely long'd-for, so do I Pant after thee, my God, whom I must find, or die.

S. CYRIL. Lib. v. in Joh. Cap. x.

O precious water, which quencheth the noisome thirst of this world, scoureth all the stains of sinners, that watereth the earth of our souls with heavenly showers, and bringeth back the thirsty heart of man to his only GOD.

S. AUGUST. Soliloq. Cap. xxxv.

O fountain of life, and vein of living waters, when shall I leave this forsaken, impassable, and dry earth, and taste the waters of thy sweetness, that I may behold thy virtue and thy glory, and slake my thirst with the streams of thy mercy! LORD, I thirst, thou art the spring of life, satisfy me; I thirst, LORD, I thirst after thee, the living GOD!

EPIG. 11.

The sorrow-smitten hart, deep wounded, flies To th' springs, with water in his weeping eyes: Heav'n is thy spring: if Satan's fiery dart

Pierce thy faint sides: do so, my wounded heart.

When shall I come and appear before God?

WHAT is my soul the better to be tin'd

With holy fire? what boots it to be coin'd

With Heav'n's own stamp? what 'vantage can there

be

To souls of heav'n-descended pedigree,