Page:Cogitations upon death, or, The mirror of man's misery (1).pdf/18

 Our sweetness mixed is with gall, our pleasures are but pain; Our joys are not worth looking ouon [sic], our sorrows still remain. But there they live in such delight, such pleasure and such play, That unto them a thousand years, seem but as yesterday. O my sweet home Jerusalem, thy joys when shall I see? Thy king sitting upon his throne, and thy felicity. Thy vineyards and thy orchards, so wonderfully rare, Are furnish'd with all kinds of fruits, most beautiful and fair. Thy gardens and thy goodly walks, continually are green, There grow such sweet and pleasant flowers, as nowhere else are seen. There cinnamon and sugar grows, there nard and balm abound, No tongue can tell, no heart can think, what pleasures there are found. There nectar and ambrosia spring, the musk and civit sweet, There many a fine and dainty drug, is trodden under feet.