All-over, Love.

TIs well, tis well with them (say I)
Whose short-liv'd Passions with themselves can dye:
For none can be unhappy, who
Midst all his ills a time does know
(Though ne'r so long) when he shall not be so.

What ever parts of Me remain,
Those parts will still the Love of thee retain;
For 'twas not onely in my Heart,
But like a God by pow'rful Art,
'Twas all in all, and all in every Part.

My'Affection no more perish can
Then the First Matter that compounds a Man.
Hereafter if one Dust of Mee
Mixt with anothers substance bee,
'Twill Leaven that whole Lump with Love of Thee.

Let Nature if she please disperse
My Atoms over all the Universe,
At the last they easi'ly shall
Themselves know, and together call;
For thy Love, like a Mark▪ is stamp'd on all.