If you complain your flames are hot,
'Tis 'cause they are impure:
For strongest spirits scorch us not,
Their flames we can endure.

Love, like zeal, should be divine,
And ardent as the same:
Like stars, which in cold weather shine,
Or liek a lambetn flame.

It should be like the morning rays
Which quickens, but not burns;
Or th' innocence of children's plays,
Or lamps in ancient urns.