Classic Poem

For as the Soul's essential powers are three
The quickening power, the power of sense and reason—
Three kinds of life to her designed be
Which perfect these three powers in their due season.

The first life in the mother's womb is spent,
Where she her nursing power doth only use;
Where, when she finds defect of nourishment,
She expels her body, and this world she views.

This we call birth; but if the child could speak
He death would call it, and of Nature plain
That she would thrust him out naked and weak
And in his passage pinch him with such pain.

Yet, out he comes, and in this world is placed
Where all his Senses in perfection be,
Where he finds flowers to smell, and fruits to taste,
And sounds to hear and sundry forms to see.

When he hath past some time upon this stage,
His Reason then a little seems to wake,
Which, though she spring, when sense doth fade with age,
Yet can she here no perfect practice make.

Then doth the aspiring Soul the body leave:
Which we call death, but, were it known to all
What life our souls do by this death receive,
Men, would it birth or jail-delivery call.

In this third life, Reason will be so bright
As that her spark will like the sunbeams shine,
And shall of God enjoy the reall sight,
Being still increast by influence divine.