YEs, thou that knowest all, dost know I love thee,
And that I set no Idol up above thee,
To thy unerring censure I appael,
And thou that knowest all things, sure canst tell,
I Love thee more then  or
Nor hast thou any  in my Breast;
I Love thee so, that I would calmly bear;
The Mocks of Fools, and bless my happy Ear
Let me from thee but one kind whisper hear;
I Love thee so, that for a smile of thine,
Might this, and all the brighter Worlds be mine,
I would not pause, but with a noble Scorn,
At the unequal slighted offer spurn;
Yes, I to Fools these trifles can resign,
Nor envy them the World, whilst thou art mine;
I love thee as my Centre, and can find
No Point but thee to stay my doubtful mind;
Potent and uncontroul'd its Motions were,
Till fixt in thee its only congruous Sphere.
Urg'd with a thousand  I stood,
Displeas'd, and sighing for some
To calm its genuine Dictates — but betwixt
Them all, remain'd suspended and unfixt.
I love thee so, 'tis more than Death to be,
My Life, my Love, my all, depriv'd of thee;
'Tis Hell, 'tis Horror, shades and darkness then,
Till thou unveil'st
I Love thee so, I'de kiss the Dart should free
My  and send her up to thee;
O would'st thou break her Chain, with what delight
She'd spread her Wings, and bid the world goodnight.



And yet the Climes of Light would not seem fair,
Unless I met my bright Redeemer there;
Unless I saw my  Saviours Face,
And cop't all Heaven in his sweet embrace.