An Ode Of The Blessed Trinitie
Muse, that art dull and weake,
by John Beaumont
Opprest with worldly paine,
If strength in thee remaine
Of things diuine to speake,
Thy thoughts awhile from vrgent cares restraine.
And with a cheareful voice thy wonted silence breake.
No cold shall thee benumme,
Nor darknesse taint thy sight;
To thee new heate, new light,
Shall from this obiect come,
Whose praises if thou now wilt sound aright,
My pen shall giue thee leaue hereafter to be dumbe.
Whence shall we then begin
To sing, or write of this,
Where no beginning is ?
Or if we enter in
Where shall we end ? The end is endlesse blisse—
Thrice happy we, if well, so rich a thread we spinne.
For Thee our strings we touch,
Thou that art Three and One,
Whose essence though vnknowne,
Beleeu'd is to be such;
To whom whatere we giue, we giue thine owne,
And yet no mortal tongue can giue to thee so much.
See how in vayne we trie
To finde some tipe t'agree
With this great One in Three,
Yet can none such descrie :
If any like, or second were to Thee,
Thy hidden nature then were not so deepe and high.
Here faile inferiour things,—
The sunne, whose heate and light
Make creatures warme and bright,
A feeble shadow brings :
The sunne shewes to the world his Father's migl it,
With glorious raies fro' forth, our fire, the spirit, sings.
Now to the toplesse hill
Let us ascend more neare,
Yet still within the spheare
Of our connat'ral skill ; We may behold how in our soules we beare
An vnderstanding power ioyn'd with effectual skill.
We cannot higher goe
To search this point diuine:
Here it doth chiefly shine,
This image must it show :
These steppes, as helpes, our humble minds incline
T' embrace those certaine grounds which from
true faith must flow.
To him these notes direct,
Who not with outward hands,
Nor by his strong commands,
Whence creatures take effect,
While perfectly himselfe he vnderstands,
Begets another selfe with equall glory deckt.
From these, the spring of loue,
The Holy Ghost proceeds,
Who our affection feeds
With those cleare flames which moue
From that eternal essence which them breeds,
And strikes into our soules as lightning from aboue.