My naked simple Life was I; That Act so strongly shin’d Upon the earth, the sea, the sky, It was the substance of my mind; The sense itself was I.
I felt no dross nor matter in my soul, No brims nor borders, such as in a bowl We see.
My essence was capacity, That felt all things; The thought that springs Therefrom’s itself.
It hath no other wings To spread abroad, nor eyes to see, Nor hands distinct to feel, Nor knees to kneel; But being simple like the Deity In its own centre is a sphere Not shut up here, but everywhere. It acts not from a centre to Its object as remote, But present is when it doth view, Being with the Being it doth note Whatever it doth do. It doth not by another engine work, But by itself; which in the act doth lurk. Its essence is transformed into a true And perfect act. And so exact Hath God appeared in this mysterious fact, That ’tis all eye, all act, all sight, And what it please can be, 30 Not only see, Or do; for ’tis more voluble than light, Which can put on ten thousand forms, Being cloth’d with what itself adorns. This made me present evermore With whatsoe’er I saw. An object, if it were before My eye, was by Dame Nature’s law, Within my soul.
Her store Was all at once within me; all Her treasures Were my immediate and internal pleasures, Substantial joys, which did inform my mind. With all she wrought My soul was fraught, And every object in my heart a thought Begot, or was;
I could not tell, Whether the things did there Themselves appear, Which in my Spirit truly seem’d to dwell; Or whether my conforming mind 50 Were not even all that therein shin’d. But yet of this I was most sure, That at the utmost length. (So worthy was it to endure) My soul could best express its strength It was so quick and pure, That all my mind was wholly everywhere, Whate’er it saw, ’twas ever wholly there; The sun ten thousand legions off, was nigh: The utmost star, Though seen from far, Was present in the apple of my eye. There was my sight, my life, my sense, My substance, and my mind; My spirit shin’d Even there, not by a transient influence: The act was immanent, yet there: The thing remote, yet felt even here. O Joy!
O wonder and delight! O sacred mystery! My Soul a Spirit infinite! An image of the Deity! A pure substantial light! That Being greatest which doth nothing seem! Why, ’twas my all,
I nothing did esteem But that alone.
A strange mysterious sphere! A deep abyss That sees and is The only proper place of Heavenly Bliss. To its Creator ’tis so near In love and excellence, In life and sense, In greatness, worth, and nature; and so dear, In it, without hyperbole, The Son and friend of God we see. A strange extended orb of Joy, Proceeding from within, Which did on every side, convey Itself, and being nigh of kin To God did every way Dilate itself even in an instant, and Like an indivisible centre stand, At once surrounding all eternity. ’Twas not a sphere, Yet did appear,
One infinite. ’Twas somewhat every where, And though it had a power to see Far more, yet still it shin’d And was a mind Exerted, for it saw Infinity. ’Twas not a sphere, but ’twas a might Invisible, and yet gave light. O wondrous Self!
O sphere of light, O sphere of joy most fair O act,
O power infinite; O subtile and unbounded air! O living orb of sight! Thou which within me art, yet me!
Thou eye, And temple of His whole infinity! O what a world art Thou!
A world within! All things appear, All objects are Alive in Thee!
Supersubstantial, rare, Above themselves, and nigh of kin To those pure things we find In His great mind Who made the world!
Tho’ now eclipsed by sin There they are useful and divine, Exalted there they ought to shine.
