"Since I am coming to that holy room,

Where, with Thy Choir of Saints, for evermore

I shall be made Thy music, as I come

I tune my instrument here at the door,

And, what I must do then, think here before.

"Since my Physicians by their loves are grown

Cosmographers; and I their map, who lie

Flat on this bed

"So, in His purple wrapt, receive my Lord!

By these His thorns, give me His other Crown

And, as to other souls I preach'd Thy word,

Be this my text, my sermon to mine own,

'That He may raise; therefore the Lord throws down.'"