Happy is she that from the world retires, and carries with her what the world admires.

For all we know Of what the blessed do above Is, that they sing, and that they love. While I listen to thy Voice.

The fear of Hell, or aiming to be blest, Savors too much of private interest. This moved not Moses, nor the zealous Paul, Who for their friends abandoned soul and all.

The seas are quiet when the winds give o'er; So calm are we when passions are no more!

Illustrious acts high raptures do infuse, And every conqueror creates a muse.

The soul's dark cottage, batter'd and decay'd, Lets in new light through chinks that Time has made. Stronger by weakness, wiser men become As they draw near to their eternal home: Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view That stand upon the threshold of the new.

And as pale sickness does invade, Your frailer part, the breaches made, In that fair lodging still more clear, Make the bright guest, your soul, appear.