Poem by Anne Finch, Countess of Winchilsea

A Contemplation

Indulg'd by ev'ry active thought
   When upwards they wou'd fly
Nor can Ambition be a fault
   If plac'd above the sky

When humbld first we meekly crave
   Remission for the past
We from the fore-tasts which we have
   May guesse our Joys at last

Then let my Contemplation soar
   And Heav'n my Subject be
Though low on Earth in nature poor
   Some prospect we may see

And now that scene before me stands
   And large Possessions there
Where none usurps anothers Lands
   And Theives we do not fear

All Care all Sorrow all Surprise
   Fly from that World of peace
Where tears are wip'd from clouded Eyes
   And Sighs for ever cease

Decay or Sicknesse find no place
   In that untainted Air
But still th'incorruptable Face
   Shall as at first be fair

Agility in pace or flight
   The Blessed shall convey
Where e're the Lamb more fair then light
   Shall lead the radiant way

Whilst Praises in Seraphick Sounds
   The blisful road shall trace
And musick seem to passe the bounds
   Even of unbounded Space

Such balmy Odours shall disperse
   As from the Bridegroom's pores
The holy Canticles rehearse
   Fell on the Bolts and Doors

When to his Spouse the well belov'd
   More white then Jordans Flocks
Spake whilest her hand the Barrs remov'd
   And dew-drops fill'd his locks

The Crosse shall there triumphant rise
   And ev'ry Eye shall scan
That promis'd Ensign in the skies
   Close by the Son of Man

With Christ there Charles's Crown shall meet 
   Which Martirdom adorns
And prostrate lye beneath his feet
   My Coronet of Thorns

The Lord to whom my life is joyn'd
   For Conscience here opprest
Shall there full retribution find
   And none his Claimes molest

Hypocrisy and feign'd pretence
   To cover foul Dissigns
Shall blusshing fly as far from thence
   As to the deepest Mines

We there shall know the use of Foes
   Whom here we have forgiven
When we shall thank them for those woes
   Which pav'd our way to Heaven

There all good things that we have mist
   With Int'rest shall return
Whilst those who have each wish possest
   Shall for that fullnesse mourn

There Coventry of Tufton's Line 
   For piety renown'd
Shall in transcending virtues Shine
   And Equally be Crown'd

Around her shall the Chains be spread
   Of Captives she has freed
And ev'ry Mouth that she has fed
   Shall testify the deed

Whilst Scools supplied to mend our youth
   Shall on the List be shown
A Daughter and a Mother both
   In Her the Church shall own

The Gospell crosse the seas rehearst
   By her diffusive aid
And fifty-thousand pounds dispers'd
   Shall there be largely paid

My Heart by her supporting Love
   In all its Cares upheld
For that, to see her Crown improve
   With transports shall be fill'd

From Gratitude what graces flow
   What endlesse pleasures spring
From Prayers whilst we remain below
   Above whilst Praise we Sing

And Mammon wert thou well employ'd 
   What Mansions might be wonne
Whilst Woolsey's Pallace lyes destroy'd 
   And Marlbrough's is not done. 

Whilst to this Heav'n my Soul Aspires
   All Suff'rings here are light
He travells pleas'd who but desires
   A Sweet Repose at Night.

1. A Miller, His Son, and Their Ass
2. Reformation
3. A Description of One of the Pieces of Tapistry at Long-Leat
4. Moral Song
5. Life's Progress

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