Not in rich furniture, or fine array,

Nor in a wedge of gold,

Thou, who from me wast sold,

To me dost now thy self convey;

For so thou should’st without me still have been,

Leaving within me sin:

But by the way of nourishment and strength

Thou creep’st into my breast;

Making thy way my rest,

And thy small quantities my length;

Which spread their forces into every part,

Meeting sin’s force and art.

Yet can these not get over to my soul,

Leaping the wall that parts

Our souls, and fleshly hearts;

But as th’outworks, they may control

My rebel-flesh, and carrying thy name,

Affright both sin and shame.

Only thy grace, which with these elements comes,

Knoweth the ready way,

And hath the privy key,

Op’ning the soul’s most subtle rooms;

While those to spirits refin’d, at door attend

Dispatches from their friend.

Give me my captive soul, or take

My body also thither,

Another lift like this will make

Them both to be together.

Before that sin turn’d flesh into stone,

And all our lump to leaven,

A fervent sigh might well have blown

Our innocent earth to heaven.

For sure when Adam did not know

To sin, or sin to smother;

He might to heav’n from Paradise go,

As from one room t’another.

Thou hast restor’d to us this ease

By this thy heav’nly blood;

Which I can go to, when I please,

And leave th’earth to their food.