On Heavenly Joy

Whate'er we do on Earth, we all pretend
Heaven is our Home, Heaven is our Journey's end.
That's true Seraphick Joy, when we do find
Such elevated Bliss, as fills the Mind
With high transports of God's celestial Throne,
And all our meaner Objects we disown:
Yet sometimes spoil our bless'd angelick rest,
To rowl on Roses, when on Thorns is best,
Vainly thinking some diviner Grace
May smooth afflictions with a smiling face;
When sighs and tears (if they come not too late)
More surely can our heavenly Joys create.
When God observes our Zeal to do our best
To please, we shall assuredly be bless'd;
And may expect to find more Penitents
Encircling of God's Throne, than Innocents:
Which shews sincere Repentance surely can,
With a fix'd Faith, restore relapsed Man.
Thus may our high-rais'd, warm addresses prove
Bright Ecstasies of the divinest Love.
Then will our Souls from dross be clean refin'd,
And by our sacred Chymist be calcin'd,
Fit for a Choir of Angels to attend
Such Saints, and sing them to their Journey's end.