O Myriads of immortal Spirits, O Powers Matchless, but with…

O Myriads of immortal Spirits, O Powers Matchless, but with th’ Almighty, and that strife Was not inglorious, though th’ event was dire, As this place testifies, and this dire change Hateful to utter: but what power of mind Foreseeing or presaging, from the Depth Of knowledge past or present, could have fear’d, How such united force of Gods, how such As stood like these, could ever know repulse? For who can yet beleeve, though after loss, That all these puissant Legions, whose exile Hath emptied Heav’n, shall faile to re-ascend Self-rais’d, and repossess their native seat. For me, be witness all the Host of Heav’n, If counsels different, or danger shun’d By me, have lost our hopes.

Lord, how can man preach thy eternall word?                 …

Lord, how can man preach thy eternall word?                   He is a brittle crazie glasse: Yet in thy temple thou dost him afford                   This glorious and transcendent place,                   To be a window, through thy grace.   But when thou dost anneal in glasse thy storie,                   Making thy life to shine within The holy Preachers; then the light and glorie                   More rev’rend grows, & more doth win:                   Which else shows watrish, bleak, & thin.   Doctrine and life, colours and light, in one                   When they combine and mingle, bring A strong regard and aw: but speech alone                   Doth vanish like a flaring thing,                   And in the eare, not conscience ring.