The Protestation

Dear Eyes, set deep within the shade
Of Love's pale alabaster brow;
Of what strange substance are ye made,
That such enchantments on me now,
Resistless, by your grace are laid?

Ye are the stars, that do control
The tides of my obedient mind:
Ye are the founts whereat my soul
In thirst may cool assuagement find:
The soothing balm to make me whole.

Ye are the deeps, in whose retreat
Refuge I find from bounding sin:
Ye are the paths, by which my feet
Move onward to God's peace within:
The abode where all pure memories meet.

Dear Eyes, dear Eyes, my health ye bring
'Mid every circumstance of fate!
In what true numbers shall I sing
The glory and virtues of your state,
Whence for my soul all grace doth spring?