In the Glorious Assumption of Our Blessed Lady

Hark! she is call'd, the parting houre is come;Take thy farewell, poor World! Heaun must go home.A peice of heau'nly earth; purer and brighterThen the chast starres, whose choise lamps come to light her,Whil'st through the crystall orbes, clearer then theyShe climbes; and makes a farre more Milkey Way.She's call'd! Hark, how the dear immortall DoueSighes to His syluer mate, 'Rise vp, my loue'!Rise vp, my fair, my spotlesse one!The Winter's past, the rain is gone;The Spring is come, the flowrs appear,No sweets, (save thou,) are wanting here.Come away, my loue!Come away, my doue!Cast off delay;The court of Heau'n is comeTo wait vpon thee home;Come, come away!The flowrs appear,Or quickly would, wert thou once here.The Spring is come, or if it stay'Tis to keep time with thy delay.The rain is gone, except so much as weDetain in needfull teares to weep the want of thee.The Winter's past,Or if he make lesse hast,His answer is, why she does so,If Sommer come not, how can Winter goe?Come away, come away!The shrill winds chide, the waters weep thy stay;The fountains murmur, and each loftyest treeBowes low'st his leauy top, to look for thee.Come away, my loue!Come away, my doue &c.She's call'd again. And will she goe?When Heau'n bidds come, who can say no?Heau'n calls her, and she must away,Heau'n will not, and she cannot stay.Goe then; goe, gloriovs on the golden wingsOf the bright youth of Heau'n, that singsVnder so sweet a burthen. Goe,Since thy dread Son will haue it so.And while thou goest, our song and weWill, as we may, reach after thee.Hail, holy queen of humble hearts!We in thy prayse will haue our parts.And though thy dearest lookes must now give lightTo none but the blest heavens, whose brightBeholders, lost in sweet delight,Feed for ever their faire sightWith those divinest eyes, which weAnd our darke world noe more shall see;Though our poore eyes are parted soe,Yet shall our lipps never lett goeThy gracious name, but to the lastOur loving song shall hold it fast.Thy pretious name shall beThy self to vs; and weWith holy care will keep it by vs.We to the lastWill hold it fast,And no Assvmption shall deny vs.All the sweetest showresOf our fairest flowresWill we strow vpon it.Though our sweets cannot makeIt sweeter, they can takeThemselues new sweetness from it.Maria, men and angels sing,Maria, mother of our King.Live, rosy princesse, live! and may the brightCrown of a most incomparable lightEmbrace thy radiant browes. O may the bestOf euerlasting ioyes bath thy white brest.Live, our chast loue, the holy mirthOf Heau'n; the humble pride of Earth.Liue, crown of woemen; queen of men;Liue, mistresse of our song. And whenOur weak desires haue done their best,Sweet angels come, and sing the rest.