Most glorious Lord of life, that on this day Didst make thy triumph over death and sin, And, having harrowed hell, didst bring away Captivity thence captive, us to win; This joyous day, dear Lord, with joy begin, 5 And grant that we, for whom Thou diddest die, Being with thy dear blood clean washed from sin, May live for ever in felicity: And that thy love we weighing worthily, May likewise love Thee for the same again; 10 And for thy sake, that alllike dear didst buy, With love may one another entertain. So let us love, dear Love, like as we ought; Love is the lesson which the Lord us taught. _Edmund Spenser._ LXI _THE HEAVENLY JERUSALEM._ Jerusalem, my happy home, When shall I come to thee? When shall my sorrows have an end, Thy joys when shall I see? O happy harbour of the saints! 5 O sweet and pleasant soil! In thee no sorrow may be found, No grief, no care, no toil. In thee no sickness may be seen, Nor hurt, nor ache, nor sore; 10 There is no death, nor ugly dole, But Life for evermore. There lust and lucre cannot dwell, There envy bears no sway; There is no hunger, heat, nor cold, 15 But pleasure every way. Thy walls are made of precious stones, Thy bulwarks diamonds square; Thy gates are of right orient pearl, Exceeding rich and rare. 20 Thy turrets and thy pinnacles With carbuncles do shine; Thy very streets are paved with gold, Surpassing clear and fine. Thy houses are of ivory, 25 Thy windows crystal clear; Thy tiles are made of beaten gold;-- O God, that I were there! Ah, my sweet home, Jerusalem, Would God I were in thee! 30 Would God my woes were at an end, Thy joys that I might see! Thy saints are crowned with glory great; They see God face to face; They triumph still, they still rejoice, 35 Most happy is their case. We that are here in banishment Continually do moan, We sigh, and sob, we weep and wail, Perpetually we groan. 40 Our sweet is mixed with bitter gall, Our pleasure is but pain, Our joys scarce last the looking on, Our sorrows still remain. But there they live in such delight, 45 Such pleasure and such play, As that to them a thousand years Doth seem as yesterday. Thy gardens and thy gallant walks Continually are green; 50 There grow such sweet and pleasant flowers As nowhere else are seen.