Poem by Richard Crashaw

A Song

Lord, when the sense of thy sweet grace  
 Sends up my soul to seek thy face.  
Thy blessed eyes breed such desire,  
I dy in love’s delicious Fire.  
 O love, I am thy Sacrifice.          
Be still triumphant, blessed eyes.  
Still shine on me, fair suns! that I  
Still may behold, though still I dy.  
 
   Though still I dy, I live again;  
Still longing so to be still slain,        
So gainfull is such losse of breath.  
I dy even in desire of death.  
 Still live in me this loving strife  
Of living Death and dying Life.  
For while thou sweetly slayest me        
Dead to my selfe, I live in Thee.

1. On the Prodigal
2. On Mr. G. Herbert's Book
3. Christ Crucified
4. In the Holy Nativity of our Lord
5. Wishes to his (Supposed) Mistress

Helen Williams A Song ("No riches from his scanty store")

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