Mary Seeking Jesus When Lost

And is He gone, Whom these armes held but now?Their hope, their vow!Did euer greife and joy in one poore heartSoe soone change part?Hee's gone! The fair'st flower that e're bosome drest;My soule's sweet rest.My wombe's chast pride is gone, my heauen-borne boy;And where is joy?Hee's gone! and His lou'd steppes to wait vpon,My joy, is gone.My joyes, and Hee are gone; my greife, and IAlone must ly.Hee's gone! not leaving with me, till He come,One smile at home.Oh come then, bring Thy mother her lost joy:Oh come, sweet boy!Make hast, and come, or e're my greife and IMake hast, and dy.Peace, heart! The heauens are angry, all their spheresRivall thy teares.I was mistaken, some faire sphere or otherWas Thy blest mother.What but the fairest heauen, could owne the birthOf soe faire earth?Yet sure Thou did'st lodge heere: this wombe of mineWas once call'd Thine!Oft haue these armes Thy cradle envied,Beguil'd Thy bed.Oft to Thy easy eares hath this shrill tongueTrembled, and sung.Oft haue I wrapt Thy slumbers in soft aires,And stroak't Thy cares.Oft hath this hand those silken casements kept,While their sunnes slept.Oft haue my hungry kisses made Thine eyesToo early rise.Oft haue I spoild my kisses' daintiest diet,To spare Thy quiet.Oft from this breast to Thine, my loue-tost heartHath leapt, to part.Oft my lost soule haue I bin glad to seekeOn Thy soft cheeke.Oft haue these armes--alas!--show'd to these eyesTheir now lost joyes.Dawne then to me, Thou morne of mine owne day,And lett heauen stay.Oh, would'st Thou heere still fixe Thy faire abode,My bosome God:What hinders, but my bosome still might beThy heauen to Thee?