t( And what the Spring to me, 
Prophetic, may appear, 
Is heaven, 0 man, to thee, 
An ever blooming year: 
Where thou shalt Angels see, 
And their sweet harpings hear ; 
If thou God’s servant be, 
And keep his counsel dear.” 
O preacher of the mead, 
Thy sermon is divine ; 
And doth from God proceed, 
Who cause thee thus to shine ; 
O Rose, in crimson weed: 
And may I make it mine; 
And thus be learn’d indeed, 
When sun and stars decline! 
