Mather Byles

The Comparison, the Choice, and the Enjoyment.

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Who on the Earth, or in the Skies,
Thy Beauties can declare?
Jesus, dear Object of my Eyes,
My Everlasting Fair.

Mortals, for you this is too great,
Too bright, and too sublime:
This, Angels labour to repeat;
And sink beneath the Theme.

Behold, ye Beauties here below,
And clasp him in your Arms;
Can ye such heav'nly Graces show,
Or rival him in Charms?

Though now, delighted, we can trace
Your Colours as they lye,
When he appears, from off your Face
The fading Colours fly.

When all your Charms in vain we seek,
And all your Joys are fled,
Beauty blooms rosey on his Cheek,
And dances round his Head.

In vain your softest Smiles appear,
Or lovely Blushes rise:
Eternal Transports center here,
Heav'n brightens in these Eyes.

Unveil, almighty Love, thy Face,
Thy Features let me see;
At once I'll rush to thy Embrace,
I'll spring at once to thee.

With infinite Delight, I'll lay
My Head soft on thy Breast:
My Eyes shall o'er thy Beauties stray;
My Arms surround thy Waist.

Thus fix'd for ever--O the Joys!
Th' unutterable Bliss!
Now where's your Pleasure, earthly Toys?
Can ye compare with This!

No more from thy Embrace I'll roam,
My Lord, my Life, my Love,
I see the Scenes of Joys to come
In long Procession move.

Now, vast Eternity, roll on,
O fathomless Profound!
Ye endless Ages, swiftly run,
Your never-ceasing Round

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Mather Byles