Classic Poem

Whiles in my Soule I feel the soft warme Hand
Of Grace, to thaw the Frozen dregs of Sin,
She, Angell (arm'd,) on Edens Walls doth stand
To keep out outward Ioyes that would come in:
But, when that holy Hand is tane away
And that my Soule congealeth (as before)
She outward Comforts seeks (with Care) each way
And, runs to meete them at each Sences Doore.
Yet they, but at the first sight, only please;
Then shrink, or breed abhor'd Satiety:
But diuine Comforts (far vnlike to These)
Do please the more, the more they stay, and Be:
Then, outward Ioyes I inwardly detest,
Sith they stay not, or stay but in vnrest.