File:Emblems, divine and moral (1824) (14565264938).jpg

Identifier: emblemsdivinemor04quar (find matches)
Title: Emblems, divine and moral
Year: 1824 (1820s)
Authors: Quarles, Francis, 1592-1644 Harvey, Christopher, 1597-1663 Wilkins, W. Walker (William Walker)
Subjects: Emblems
Publisher: London : J. Robins
Contributing Library: Duke University Libraries
Digitizing Sponsor: Duke University Libraries

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ss him.Here stay, my soul, and ravish in relation;Thy words being spent, spend now in contemplation. S. Greg, in Psal. vii. Pcenitent. Sweet Jesus, the Word of the Father, the bright-ness of paternal glory, whom angels delight toview, teach me to do thy will; that, led by thygood Spirit, I may come to that blessed city,where day is eternal; where there is certain secu-rity, and secure eternity; and eternal peace, andpeaceful happiness; and happy sweetness, and 148 EMBLEMS. BOOK V. sweet pleasure; where thou, O God, with theFather and the Holy Spirit, livest and reignestworld without end. Ibidem.There is light without darkness; joy withoutgrief; desire without punishment; love withoutsadness; satiety without loathing; safety withoutfear; health without disease; and life withoutdeath. Epig. 14. My soul, pry not too nearly; the complexionOf Sols bright face is seen but by reflection:But wouldst thou know whats Heavn ? Ill tell thee what;Think what thou canst not think, and Heavn is that.
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Cant: 8.14. Jf-f.i-ft fAtc/t mrZr/f, Ay - //A-f t/if hmaidthqjfoe.(rvcr /Ac frtifjnirtt/TiAA.?ifAr^rc Space* tfrr/r. BOOK V.—EMBLEM XV. Canticles VIII. 14. Make haste, my beloved, and be thou like to a roe orto a young hart upon the mountains of spices. Go, gentle tyrant, go; thy flames do pierceMy soul too deep ; thy flames are too, too fierce:My marrow melts, my fainting spirits fry,V th torrid zone of thy meridian eye:Away, away, thy sweets are too perfuming;Turn, turn thy face, thy fires are too consuming:Haste hence, and let thy winged steps outgoThe frighted roebuck, and his flying roe. But wilt thou leave me, then ? O thou that artLife of my soul, soul of my dying heart:Without the sweet aspect of whose fair eyesMy soul doth languish, and her solace dies;Art thou so easly wood ? so apt to hearThe frantic language of my foolish fear? Leave, leave me not, nor turn thy beauty from me; Look, look upon me, though thine eyes oercorae me. -J* 150 EMBLEMS. BOOK V. G how they wound*!

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