On the Assumption.

HArke shee is called, the parting houre is come,
Take thy farewel poore world, heaven must go home.
A peece of heavenly Light purer and brighter
Then the chast stars, whose choice Lamps come to light her.
While through the christall orbs clearer then they
Shee climbes, and makes a farre more milky way;
Shee's call'd againe, harke how th'immortall Dove
Sighs to his silver mate: rise up my Love,
Rise up my faire, my spotlesse one,
The Winter's past, the raine is gone:
The Spring is come, the Flowers appeare,
No sweets since thou art wanting here.

Come away my Love,
Come away my Dove
cast off delay:
The Court of Heav'n is come,
To wait upon thee home;
Come away, come away.

Shee's call'd againe, and will shee goe;
When heaven bids come, who can say no?
Heav'n calls her, and she must away,
Heaven will not, and she cannot stay.
Goe then, goe (glorious) on the golden wings
Of the bright youth of Heaven, that sings
Vnder so sweet a burden: goe,
Since thy great Sonne will have it so:
And while thou goest, our song and wee,
Will as wee may reach after thee.
Haile holy Queen of humble hearts,
Wee in thy praise will have our parts.
And though thy dearest looks must now be light
To none but the blest heavens, whose bright
Beholders lost in sweet delight;
Feed for ever their faire sight
With those divinest eyes, which wee
And our darke world no more shall see.
Though, our poore joyes are parted so,
Yet shall our lips never let goe
Thy gracious name, but to the last,
Our Loving song shall hold it fast.

Thy sacred Name shall bee
Thy selfe to us, and wee
With holy cares will keepe it by us,
Wee to the last,
Will hold it fast.
And no Assumption shall deny us.
All the sweetest showers,
Of our fairest Flowers,
Will wee strow upon it:
Though our sweetnesse cannot make
It sweeter, they may take
Themselves new sweetnesse from it.

Mary, men and Angels sing,
Maria Mother of our King.
Live rarest Princesse, and may the bright
Crown of an incomparable Light
Embrace thy radiant browes, ô may the best
Of everlasting joyes bath thy white brest.
Live our chaste love, the holy mirth
Of heaven, and humble pride of Earth:
Live Crowne of Women, Queen of men:
Live Mistris of our Song, and when
Our weak desires have done their best;
Sweet Angels come, and sing the rest.