The Starre

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Bright spark, shot from a brighter place,
  Where beams surround my Saviour's face,
  Canst thou be any where
  So well as there?

Yet, if thou wilt from thence depart,
  Take a bad lodging in my heart;
  For thou canst make a debter,
  And make it better.

First with thy fire-work burn to dust
  Folly, and worse than folly, lust:
  Then with thy light refine,
  And make it shine.

So disengag'd from sinne and sicknesse,
  Touch it with thy celestiall quicknesse
  That it may hang and move
  After thy love.

Then with our trinitie of light,
  Motion, and heat, let's take our flight
  Unto the place where thou
  Before didst bow.

Get me a standing there, and place
  Among the beams, which crown the face
  Of him, who dy'd to part
  Sinne and my heart:

That so among the rest I may
  Glitter, and curle, and winde as they:
  That winding is their fashion
  Of adoration.

Sure thou wilt joy, by gaining me
  To flie home like a laden bee
  Unto that hive of beams
  And garland-streams.

© George Herbert