Hymn in Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament

With all the powres my poor Heart hath     
Of humble love & loyall Faith,     
Thus lowe (my hidden life!) I bow to thee     
Whom too much love hath bow'd more low for me.     
Down down, proud sense! Discourses dy!
Keep close, my soul's inquiring ey!     
Nor touch nor tast must look for more     
But each sitt still in his own Dore.     
 
Your ports are all superfluous here,     
Save That which lets in faith, the eare.
Faith is my skill. Faith can beleive     
As fast as love new lawes can give.     
Faith is my force. Faith strength affords     
To keep pace with those powrfull words.     
And words more sure, more sweet, then they,
Love could not think, truth could not say.     
 
O let thy wretch find that releife     
Thou didst afford the faithfull theife.     
Plead for me, love! Alleage & show     
That faith has farther, here, to goe,
And lesse to lean on. Because than     
Though hidd as GOD, wounds writt thee man.     
Thomas might touch; None but might see     
At least the suffring side of thee;     
And that too was thy self which thee did cover,
But here ev'n That 's hid too which hides the other.     
 
Sweet, consider then, that I     
Though allow'd nor hand nor eye     
To reach at thy lov'd Face; nor can     
Tast thee GOD, or touch thee MAN,
Both yet beleive; And wittnesse thee     
My LORD too & my GOD, as lowd as He.     
 
Help, lord, my Faith, my Hope increase;     
And fill my portion in thy peace.     
Give love for life; nor let my dayes
Grow, but in new powres to thy name & praise.     
 
O dear memoriall of that Death     
Which lives still, & allowes us breath!     
Rich, Royall food! Bountyfull BREAD!     
Whose use denyes us to the dead;
Whose vitall gust alone can give     
The same leave both to eat & live;     
Live ever Bread of loves, & be     
My life, my soul, my surer selfe to mee.     
 
O soft self-wounding Pelican!
Whose brest weepes Balm for wounded man.     
Ah this way bend thy benign floud     
To'a bleeding Heart that gaspes for blood:     
That blood, whose least drops soveraign be     
To wash my worlds of sins from me.
Come love! Come LORD! & that long day     
For which I languish, come away;     
When this dry soul those eyes shall see,     
And drink the unseal'd sourse of thee,     
When Glory's sun faith's shades shall chase,
And for thy veil give me thy FACE.     
 
A M E N.

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