The Church-floore

Mark you the floore ?  that square and speckled stone,
                    Which looks so firm and strong,
                                             Is Patience :

And th’ other black and grave, wherewith each one
                    Is checker’d all along,
                                             Humilitie :

The gentle rising, which on either hand
                    Leads to the Quire above,
                                             Is Confidence :

But the sweet cement, which in one sure band
                    Ties the whole frame, is Love
                                             And Charitie.

        Hither sometimes Sinne steals, and stains
        The marbles neat and curious veins :
But all is cleansed when the marble weeps.
        Sometimes Death, puffing at the doore,
        Blows all the dust about the floore :
But while he thinks to spoil the room, he sweeps.
        Blest be the Architect, whose art
        Could build so strong in a weak heart.

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