Oh eyes! Our Sun's extinct, and at an end,
Or rather glorified in Heav'n does shine;
There shall we see her, there does she attend,
And at our long delay perchance repine.
Alas, my ears, the voice you lov'd to hear,
Is now rais'd up to the celestial choir;
And you, my feet, she's gone that us'd to steer
Your course, where you till d**h can ne'er aspire.
Cannot my soul nor body yet be free?
'Twas not my fault, you this occasion lost;
That seeing, hearing, finding her y' are crost:
Blame d**h, or rather blest be ever He,
Who binds and looses, makes and can destroy,
And, when Life's done, crowns with Eternal Joy.