Classic Poem

A sweet attractive kinde of grace,
A full assurance giv'n by lookes,
Continual comfort in a face,
The lineaments of Gospell bookes
I trowe that countenance cannot lie
Whose thoughts are legible in the eye.

Was never eye did see that face,
Was never eare did heare that tong,
Was never minde did minde his grace,
That ever thought the travell long;
But eyes, and eares, and ev'ry thought
Were with his sweete perfections caught.