A simple Light from all Contagion free,

A Beam that's purely Spiritual, an Ey

That's altogether Virgin, Things doth see

Ev'n like unto the Deity:

That is, it shineth in an hevenly Sence,

And round about (unmov'd) its Light dispence.

The visiv Rays are Beams of Light indeed,

Refined, subtil, piercing, quick and pure;

And as they do the sprightly Winds exceed,

Are worthy longer to endure:

They far out-shoot the Reach of Grosser Air,

Which with such Excellence may not compare.

But being once debas'd, they soon becom

Less activ than they were before; and then

After distracting Objects out they run,

Which make us wretched Men.

A simple Infant's Ey is such a Treasure

That when 'tis lost, w' enjoy no reall Pleasure.

O that my Sight had ever simple been!

And never faln into a grosser state!

Then might I evry Object still hav seen

(As now I see a golden Plate)

In such an hev'nly Light, as to descry

In it, or by it, my Felicity.

As easily might soar aloft as mov

On Earth; and things remote as well as nigh

My Joys should be; and could discern the Lov

Of God in my Tranquility.

But Streams are heavy which the Winds can blow;

Whose grosser body must needs move below.

The East was once my Joy; and so the Skies

And Stars at first I thought; the West was mine:

Then Praises from the Mountains did arise

As well as Vapors: Evry Vine

Did bear me Fruit; the Fields my Gardens were;

My larger Store-house all the Hemisphere.

But Wantonness and Avarice got in

And spoil'd my Wealth; (I never to complain

Can cease, till I am purged from my Sin

And made an Infant once again:)

So that my feeble and disabled Sense

Reacht only Near Things with its Influence.