XXV. Richard Vennard

OH heauenly Spirit of especiall power,

That in thy hand thy praise of praises holdest;

And from the top of truthe’s triumphant tower

The hidden fence of fairest thoughts vnfoldest:

Inspire this hart and humble soule of mine

With some sweet sparkle of thy power deuine.

Teach me to thinck but on that onely thought,

Wherein doth liue the grace of vertue’s glory;

And learne no more then what thy truth hath taught

To those best wits that write thy worthie storie;

Wherein is seene in heauen and earth’s preseruing

The highest point of praises, praise deseruing.

Let not compare come neere vnto none such:

Heauen bee my thought, and let the world go by;

And say with all that, say I nere so much,

All are but trifles to thy treasurie:

For all no more then what thy mercie giueth,

Who can behold wherein thy glory liueth?

No; I can see the shining of the sunne,

But cannot sound the essence of the light:

Then of thy face, in whom that faire begunne,

How can my soule presume to haue a sight?

No, my deere God, thy glory hath a beeing,

Where eie, nor heart, nor soule, may haue a seeing.

And therefore, Lord, since such thy glory is

As cannot bee but of thyselfe conceiued;

And heauen nor earth conteines that sparke of blisse

But from thy hand of mercy is receiued;

What spirit can hir sweetest passion raise

Neere to the due of thy deserued praise?

Yet since all glory doth belong to thee,

Thy name in all things must bee magnified;

And by thy mercie thou hast made mee see

How in my soule thou maist be glorified:

In that sweet mercy make my soule to know,

How best I may that blessed glory show.

*****