Progresse

Two Soules move here, and mine (a third) must movePaces of admiration, and of love;Thy Soule (deare virgin) whose this tribute is,Mov'd from this mortall Spheare to lively blisse;And yet moves still, and still aspires to seeThe worlds last day, thy glories full degree:Like as those starres which thou o'r-lookest farre,Are in their place, and yet still moved are:No soule (whiles with the luggage of this clayIt clogged is) can follow thee halfe way;Or see thy flight, which doth our thoughts outgoeSo fast, that now the lightning moves but slow:But now thou art as high in heaven flowneAs heaven's from us; what soule besides thine owneCan tell thy joyes, or say he can relateThy glorious Journals in that blessed state?I envie thee (Rich soule) I envy thee,Although I cannot yet thy glory see:And thou (great spirit) which hers follow'd hastSo fast, as none can follow thine so fast;So far, as none can follow thine so farre,(And if this flesh did not the passage barreHadst caught her) let me wonder at thy flightWhich long agone hadst lost the vulgar sight,And now mak'st proud the better eyes, that theyCan see thee less'ned in thine ayery way;So while thou mak'st her soule by progresse knowneThou mak'st a noble progresse of thine owne,From this worlds carkasse having mounted highTo that pure life of immortalitie;Since thine aspiring thoughts themselves so raiseThat more may not beseeme a creatures praise,Yet still thou vow'st her more; and every yeareMak'st a new progresse, while thou wandrest here;Still upward mount; and let thy Makers praiseHonor thy Laura, and adorne thy laies.And since thy Muse her head in heaven shrouds,Oh let her never stoope below the clouds:And if those glorious sainted soules may knowOr what wee doe, or what wee sing below,Those acts, those songs shall still content them bestWhich praise those awfull Powers that make them blest.