Poem 22
And
ye
high
heauens,
the
temple
of
the
gods,
In
which
a
thousand
torches
flaming
bright
Doe
burne,
that
to
vs
wretched
earthly
clods:
In
dreadful
darknesse
lend
desired
light;
And
all
ye
powers
which
in
the
same
remayne,
More
then
we
men
can
fayne,
Poure
out
your
blessing
on
vs
plentiously,
And
happy
influence
vpon
vs
raine,
That
we
may
raise
a
large
posterity,
Which
from
the
earth,
which
they
may
long
possesse,
With
lasting
happinesse,
Vp
to
your
haughty
pallaces
may
mount,
And
for
the
guerdon
of
theyr
glorious
merit
May
heauenly
tabernacles
there
inherit,
Of
blessed
Saints
for
to
increase
the
count.
So
let
vs
rest,
sweet
loue,
in
hope
of
this,
And
cease
till
then
our
tymely
ioyes
to
sing,
The
woods
no
more
vs
answer,
nor
our
eccho
ring.
