Other Sonnets vpon other Subiects, 12

WHiles in my Soule, I feel the soft warme Hand
Of Grace, to shaw the Frozen dregs of Sin
She, Angell (arm'd,) on Edens Walls doth stand
To keep out outward Ioyes that would come in:
But, when that holy Hand is ane away
And that my Soule congealeth (as before)
She outward Comforts seeks (with Care) each way
And, runs to meet them at each Sences Doore.
Yet they, but at the first sight, only please;
Then shrink, or breed abhor'd Satiety:
But, diuine Comforts (far vnlike to These)
Do please the more, the more they stay, and Be:
Then, outward Ioyes I inwardly detest,
Sith they stay not, or stay but in vnrest.