The Starre

Bright spark, shot from a brighter place,
Where beams surround my Saviour's face,
Canst thou be any where
So well as there?
Yet, if thou wilt from thence depart,
Take a bad lodging in my heart;
For thou canst make a debter,
And make it better.
First with thy fire-work burn to dust
Folly, and worse than folly, lust:
Then with thy light refine,
And make it shine.
So disengag'd from sinne and sicknesse,
Touch it with thy celestiall quicknesse
That it may hang and move
After thy love.
Then with our trinitie of light,
Motion, and heat, let's take our flight
Unto the place where thou
Before didst bow.
Get me a standing there, and place
Among the beams, which crown the face
Of him, who dy'd to part
Sinne and my heart:
That so among the rest I may
Glitter, and curle, and winde as they:
That winding is their fashion
Of adoration.
Sure thou wilt joy, by gaining me
To flie home like a laden bee
Unto that hive of beams
And garland-streams.