19
Thy moon-like graces, changing much,
Have here and there a spot;
Thy sun-like glory is not such,
Thy Husband changes not.
Thy white and ruddy vesture fair
Outvies the rosy leaf:
For ′mong ten thousand beauties rare
Thy Husband is the chief.
Cloth′d with the Sun, thy robes of light,
The morning rays outshine;
The lamps of heav′n are not so bright,
Thy Husband decks thee fine.
Though hellish smoke thy duties stain,
And sin deform thee quite;
Thy Surety′s merit makes thee clean,
Thy Husband′s beauty white.
Thy pray′rs and tears, nor pure nor good,
But vile and loathsome seem:
Yet gain, by dipping in his blood,
Thy Husband′s high esteem.
No fear thou starve, though wants be great,
In him thou art complete:
Thy hungry soul may hopeful wait,
Thy Husband gives thee meat.
