Since 'tis not to be had at home, She'll travel for a martyrdom. No home for her, confesses she, But where she may a martyr be. She'll to the Moors, and trade with them For this unvalued diadem; She offers them her dearest breath, With Christ's name in 't, in charge for death: She'll bargain with them, and will give Them God, and teach them how to live In Him; or, if they this deny, For Him she'll teach them how to die. So shall she leave amongst them sown Her Lord's blood, or at least her own. Farewell then, all the world, adieu! Teresa is no more for you. Farewell all pleasures, sports, and joys, Never till now esteemed toys! Farewell whatever dear may be-- Mother's arms, or father's knee! Farewell house, and farewell home! She 's for the Moors and Martyrdom. Sweet, not so fast; lo! thy fair spouse, Whom thou seek'st with so swift vows, Calls thee back, and bids thee come T' embrace a milder martyrdom.... O how oft shalt thou complain Of a sweet and subtle pain! Of intolerable joys! Of a death, in which who dies Loves his death, and dies again, And would for ever so be slain; And lives and dies, and knows not why To live, but that he still may die! How kindly will thy gentle heart Kiss the sweetly-killing dart! And close in his embraces keep Those delicious wounds, that weep Balsam, to heal themselves with thus, When these thy deaths, so numerous, Shall all at once die into one, And melt thy soul's sweet mansion; Like a soft lump of incense, hasted By too hot a fire, and wasted Into perfuming clouds, so fast Shalt thou exhale to heaven at last In a resolving sigh, and then,-- O what? Ask not the tongues of men. Angels cannot tell; suffice, Thyself shalt feel thine own full joys, And hold them fast for ever there. So soon as thou shalt first appear, The moon of maiden stars, thy white Mistress, attended by such bright Souls as thy shining self, shall come, And in her first ranks make thee room; Where, 'mongst her snowy family, Immortal welcomes wait for thee. O what delight, when she shall stand And teach thy lips heaven, with her hand, On which thou now may'st to thy wishes Heap up thy consecrated kisses! What joy shall seize thy soul, when she, Bending her blessed eyes on thee, Those second smiles of heaven, shall dart Her mild rays through thy melting heart! Angels, thy old friends, there shall greet thee, Glad at their own home now to meet thee. All thy good works which went before, And waited for thee at the door, Shall own thee there; and all in one Weave a constellation Of crowns, with which the King, thy spouse, Shall build up thy triumphant brows. All thy old woes shall now smile on thee, And thy pains sit bright upon thee: All thy sorrows here shall shine, And thy sufferings be divine. Tears shall take comfort, and turn gems, And wrongs repent to diadems. Even thy deaths shall live, and new Dress the soul which late they slew. Thy wounds shall blush to such bright scars As keep account of the Lamb's wars.