Emulation, and desire June 18 72

Oh blessed souls now sweetly lodg'd above
How at you always drench'd & drown'd in love
What plesure, doth unto you still arive
Whilst you in boundlese, seas of love doe dive
Love is the book, in which you always spell
Such wonders, as none else can paralell
Whilst you into love misterys, doe pry
What heights, and depths, of love doe you espy
You allways sing, the songs of love, and praise
From whence, your halalujahs you doe raise
The work is love, in which you ar employ'd
A work so sweet, you cant in it be cloy'd
Love is the ayr, in which you breath, and live
And that unparaleld pleasure doth give
love is the object, on which you still gaze
Whilst sweetly you'r enlightned from its rays
In arms of love, you alway, lye, & rest
Making your nest, in that sweet, sacred breast
From princeples of love, you act and move
And always reap, the blessed friut of love
To all eternity, you 'gather in
The crop, & harvest, which from love doth spring
Since yet unto this life, I cant atain
Whilst in this tent of clay, I doe remain
Oh give me leave, to prese after this tresure
That I may have of it, a fuller measure
And come to live upon the borders of
That other land, that land, of perfect love
That I of that angellick life may come
To have a sweet fortast, ere I get home
Whilst here let me, still restlesly aspire
And after thee, reach forth with strong desire
Till over head, and ears, I shall be drenc'd
I dayly thurst, but cannot have it quench'd
I somtimes feell such pain, and misery
(Because I cant, this mesenger espy
As should convay my soull, into this land
Where thy love shall me sweetly comprehand)
As that I know not how, nor where to rest
Because of dubious thoughts which fill my breast.