Poetical fragments heart-employment with God and it selfPoetical fragments heart-imployment with God and it self

Yet did I scarce discern that it was Thee, Whom in the Glass my pleased Mind did see: But though thine Image more incur my sense, I love it for the portrayed excellence: It's not because the Workmanship is fine, But Good and Holy; and because it's Thine. I better know the Map that's in my hand: But yet, by it, I better Love the Land. Sure when I loved thy Books, and every letter; I loved the Sense, and End, and Author better. He loveth Wisdom sure, who loves the Wise: It's like he loves the Light, who loves his Eyes. If one in Prison had his life begun, Where he had never seen the shining Sun; ⟨p. 25⟩Yet if he dearly love the Candle-light, He'd urely love the Sun, which is more bright. Or if the Sun had always clouded been, And men its scattered Light alone had seen; •'s true, our Thoughts and Love of that we see, Would more exact and satisfying be: But to the unseen Cause, as it is Better, Our Love of Estimation would be Greater. And even a Knowledge general and dark, Would be the Chooser of our End and Mark. That Love's most sensible, which Sense doth breed; But that Commands, which Faith and Reason feed: The Country than the Map, I must confess, ☞ •s much less known; but is not known as less. A Create and Certain Object should do more, Though darkly known, than trifles at my door: An Unseen Kingdom would with men prevail, To leave their Native place, and hoist up sail, And venture over stormy boisterous Seas: Wch shows that great things, tho unseen, most please. No wonder if the Knowledge be most clear, Or little things which to the sense are near; These narrow parcels we can comprehend, When unseen Greatness, doth the mind transcend: But yet This moves the Wheels, and is the Spring, Before the nearest sight of some small thing. That is most Loved, which I make my End; To which my great designs and actions tend; For which I can all other Treasure spend, Although I do it darkly apprehend. ⟨p. 26⟩O my Dear God! how precious is thy Love? Unveiled fully to thy Saints above?

Yet did I scarce discern that it was Thee, Whom in the Glass my pleased Mind did see: But though thine Image more incur my sense, I love it for the pourtrayd excellence: It's not because the Workmanship is fine, But Good and Holy; and because it's Thine. I better know the Map that's in my hand: But yet, by it, I better Love the Land. Sure when I lov'd thy Books, and every letter; I lov'd the Sense, and End, and Author better. He loveth Wisdom sure, who loves the Wise: It's like he loves the Light, who loves his Eyes. If one in Prison had his life begun, Where he had never seen the shining Sun;