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The Anticipation

My contemplation dazzles in the End    Of all I comprehend,    And soars above all heights,  Diving into the depths of all delights.    Can He become the End,  To whom all creatures tend,  Who is the Father of all Infinites?  Then may He benefit receive from things,  And be not Parent only of all springs.    The End doth want the means, and is the cause,  Whose sake, by Nature’s laws,    Is that for which they are.  Such sands, such dangerous rocks we must beware:    From all Eternity    A perfect Deity Most great and blessed He doth still appear:  His essence perfect was in all its features,  He ever blessed in His joys and creatures.    From everlasting He those joys did need,    And all those joys proceed  From Him eternally.  From everlasting His felicity    Complete and perfect was,    Whose bosom is the glass,  Wherein we all things everlasting see.

His name is Now,

His Nature is For-ever:  None can His creatures from their Maker sever.    The End in Him from everlasting is    The fountain of all bliss:    From everlasting it Efficient was, and influence did emit,    That caused all.

Before    The world, we do adore  This glorious End.

Because all benefit  From it proceeds: both are the very same,

The End and Fountain differ but in Name.    That so the End should be the very Spring    Of every glorious thing;    And that which seemeth last,  The fountain and the cause; attained so fast  That it was first; and mov’d    The Efficient, who so lov’d  All worlds and made them for the sake of this;  It shews the End complete before, and is  A perfect token of His perfect bliss.  The End complete, the means must needs be so,    By which we plainly know,    From all Eternity  The means whereby God is, must perfect be.    God is Himself the means  Whereby He doth exist:  And as the Sun by shining’s cloth’d with beams,  So from Himself to all His glory streams,  Who is a Sun, yet what Himself doth list.    His endless wants and His enjoyments be  From all Eternity    Immutable in Him:  They are His joys before the Cherubim.    His wants appreciate all,    And being infinite,

Permit no being to be mean or small  That He enjoys, or is before His sight.  His satisfactions do His wants delight.    Wants are the fountains of Felicity;    No joy could ever be    Were there no want.

No bliss,  No sweetness perfect, were it not for this.    Want is the greatest pleasure    Because it makes all treasure.  O what a wonderful profound abyss Is God!

In whom eternal wants and treasures  Are more delightful since they both are pleasures.    He infinitely wanteth all His joys;    (No want the soul e’er cloys.)    And all those wanted pleasures He infinitely hath.

What endless measures,    What heights and depths may we    In His felicity  Conceive!

Whose very wants are endless pleasures.  His life in wants and joys is infinite,

And both are felt as His Supreme Delight.    He’s not like us; possession doth not cloy,    Nor sense of want destroy;    Both always are together;  No force can either from the other sever.  Yet there’s a space between    That’s endless.

Both are seen  Distinctly still, and both are seen for ever.  As soon as e’er He wanteth all His bliss,  His bliss, tho’ everlasting, in Him is.    His Essence is all Act:

He did that He    All Act might always be.    His nature burns like fire;  His goodness infinitely does desire    To be by all possesst;  His love makes others blest.  It is the glory of His high estate,  And that which I for evermore admire,  He is an Act that doth communicate.    From all to all Eternity He is  That Act: an Act of bliss:    Wherein all bliss to all  That will receive the same, or on Him call,    Is freely given: from whence    â€™Tis easy even to sense To apprehend that all receivers are  In Him, all gifts, all joys, all eyes, even all  At once, that ever will or shall appear.    He is the means of them, they not of Him.    The Holy Cherubim,  Souls,

Angels from Him came  Who is a glorious bright and living Flame,    That on all things doth shine,    And makes their face divine.  And Holy,

Holy,

Holy is His Name:  He is the means both of Himself and all,  Whom we the Fountain,

Means, and End do call

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Thomas Traherne

Thomas Traherne (1636 or 1637 – c. 27 September 1674) was an English poet, clergyman, theologian, and religious writer. The intense, scholarly s…

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