The text comes from Philips’s Poems by the Most Deservedly Admired Mrs. Katherine Philips, the Matchless Orinda (1667).
Religion, which true Policy befriends, | ||
Design’d by God to serve Man’s noblest ends, | ||
Is by that old Deceiver’s subtle play | ||
Made the chief party in its own decay, | ||
5 | And meets that Eagles destiny, whose breast | |
Felt the same shaft which his own feathers drest. | ||
For that great Enemy of Souls perceiv’d, | ||
The notion of a Deity was weav’d | ||
So closely in Man’s Soul; to ruine that, | ||
10 | He must at once the World depopulate. | |
But as those Tyrants who their Wills pursue, | ||
If they expound old Laws, need make no new: | ||
So he advantage takes of Nature’s light, | ||
And raises that to a bare useless height; | ||
15 | Or while we seek for Truth, he in the Quest | |
Mixes a Passion, or an Interest, | ||
To make us lose it; that, I know not how, | ||
’Tis not our Practice, but our Quarrel now. | ||
As in the Moon’s Eclipse some Pagans thought | ||
20 | Their barbarous Clamours her deliverance wrought: | |
So we suppose that Truth oppressed lies, | ||
And needs a Rescue by our Enmities. | ||
But ’tis Injustice, and the Mind’s Disease, | ||
To think of gaining Truth by losing Peace. | ||
25 | Knowledge and Love, if true, do still unite; | |
God’s Love and Knowledge are both Infinite. | ||
And though indeed Truth does delight to lie | ||
At some Remoteness from a Common Eye; | ||
Yet ’tis not in a Thunder or a Noise, | ||
30 | But in soft Whispers and the stiller Voice. | |
Why should we then Knowledge so rudely treat, | ||
Making our weapon what was meant our meat? | ||
’Tis Ignorance that makes us quarrel so; | ||
The Soul that’s dark will be contracted too. | ||
35 | Chimæra’s make a noise, swelling and vain, | |
And soon resolve to their own smoak again. | ||
But a true Light the spirit doth dilate, | ||
And robs it of its proud and sullen state; | ||
Makes Love admir’d because ’tis understood, | ||
40 | And makes us Wise because it makes us Good. | |
’Tis to a right Prospect of things that we | ||
Owe our Uprightness and our Charity. | ||
For who resists a beam when shining bright, | ||
Is not a Sinner of a common height. | ||
45 | That state’s a forfeiture, and helps are spent, | |
Not more a Sin, than ’tis a Punishment. | ||
The Soul which sees things in their Native frame, | ||
Without Opinion’s Mask or Custom’s name, | ||
Cannot be clogg’d to Sense, or count that high | ||
50 | Which hath its Estimation from a Lie. | |
(Mean sordid things, which by mistake we prize, | ||
And absent covet, but enjoy’d despise.) | ||
But scorning these hath robb’d them of their art, | ||
Either to swell or to subdue the Heart; | ||
55 | And learn’d that generous frame to be above | |
The World in hopes, below it all in love: | ||
Touch’d with Divine and Inward Life doth run, | ||
Not resting till it hath its Centre won; | ||
Moves steadily until it safe doth lie | ||
60 | I’th’ Root of all its Immortality; | |
And resting here hath yet activity | ||
To grow more like unto the Deity; | ||
Good, Universal, Wise and Just as he, | ||
(The same in kind, though diff’ring in degree) | ||
65 | Till at the last ’tis swallow’d up and grown | |
With God and with the whole Creation one; | ||
It self, so small a part, i’th’ Whole is lost, | ||
And Generals have Particulars engrost. | ||
That dark contracted Personality, | ||
70 | Like Mists before the Sun, will from it flie. | |
And then the Soul, one shining sphear, at length | ||
With true Love’s wisdom fill’d and purged strength, | ||
Beholds her highest good with open face, | ||
And like him all the World she can embrace. |