Page:Cogitations upon death, or, The mirror of man's misery (1).pdf/17

 Thy turrets and thy pinnacles, with carbuncles doth shine; With jasper, pearls, and crysolyte, surpassing pure and fine. Thy houses are of ivory, thy windows chrystal clear; Thy streets are laid with beaten gold, where angels do appear. Thy walls are made of precious stones, thy bulwarks diamonds square; Thy gates are made of orient pearl, O God! if I were there. Within thy gates nothing can come, that is not passing clear; No spider's web, no dirt, no dust, no filth may there appear. Jehovah, Lord, now come I pray, and end my grief and plaints, Take me to thy Jerusalem, and place me among the saints: Who there are crown'd with glory great, and see God face to face, They triumph all, and do rejoice, most happy is their case. But we who are in banishment, continually do moan, We sigh, we mourn, we sob, we weep. perpetually we groan.