To the volume of 1652 ('Carmen Deo Nostro' &c.) was prefixed a Verse-letter to the COUNTESS OF DENBIGH, illustrated with an engraving of a 'locked heart,' as reproduced in our quarto edition. In 1653 ('Sept. 23, 1653'), as appears from a contemporary marking in the unique copy in the British Museum, the following was printed: 'A Letter from MR. CRASHAW to the Countess of Denbigh. Against Irresolution and Delay in matters of Religion. London, n.d.'(4to). Collation: title-page and 3 pages, page 1st on reverse of title-page (British Museum E. 220. 2.). The Paris copy is very imperfect from some unexplained reason (68 as against 90 lines), and it would seem that some friend of the deceased poet, dissatisfied with it, and having in his (or her) possession a fuller MS., printed, if not published it. We give the enlarged text--never before noticed, having been only named, without taking the trouble to consult and compare it, by TURNBULL; and for the student add the abbreviated form from 1652 'Carmen,' as it, in turn, has lines and words not in the other. See our Essay for more on this most characteristic poem, and relative to the Countess of Denbigh. G. AGAINST IRRESOLUTION AND DELAY IN MATTERS OF RELIGION. What Heav'n-besiegèd heart is this 1 Stands trembling at the Gate of Blisse: Holds fast the door, yet dares not venture Fairly to open and to enter? Whose definition is, A Doubt 5 'Twixt life and death, 'twixt In and Out. Ah! linger not, lov'd soul: a slow And late consent was a long No. Who grants at last, a great while try'de And did his best, to have deny'de 10 What magick-bolts, what mystick barrs Maintain the Will in these strange warrs? What fatall, yet fantastick, bands Keep the free heart from his own hands? Say, lingring Fair, why comes the birth 15 Of your brave soul so slowly forth? Plead your pretences (O you strong In weaknesse!) why you chuse so long In labour of your self to ly, Not daring quite to live nor die. 20 So when the Year takes cold we see Poor waters their own prisoners be: Fetter'd and lock'd up fast they lie In a cold self-captivity. Th' astonish'd Nymphs their Floud's strange fate deplore, 25 find themselves their own severer shoar. Love, that lends haste to heaviest things, In you alone hath lost his wings. Look round and reade the World's wide face, The field of Nature or of Grace; 30 Where can you fix, to find excuse Or pattern for the pace you use? Mark with what faith fruits answer flowers, And know the call of Heav'n's kind showers: Each mindfull plant hasts to make good 35 The hope and promise of his bud. Seed-time's not all; there should be harvest too.