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Lessed Jesus from thine Eye,

Those thrice Sacred Flames did fly,

Which now burn without controul

As on the Tinder of our Soul.

Blessed Fires, O consume

What's prepard for Martyrdom.

Blessed as the Soul that dies,

Thus to Love a Sacrifice,

The Etherial Flames that are

Couched in the Welkin Fair;

Those that crown the radiant Sun;

And those that beautify the Moon,

Are less fair than those that come

Thus to Crown our Martyrdom.

Blessed is the Soul that dies

Loves unspotted Sacrifice.

O how raging, yet how sweet

Are those Sacred Fires, which greet

Our dry Souls with flaming Kisses,

Pains dispensing with our Blisses.

But such Pains we wish to come,

That bring us Crowns of Martyrdom.

Blessed is the Soul that dies

Thus to Love a Sacrifice

O our Souls are all on Fire,

We consume in our Desire

We Desire what we Possess

Water's but our Fires Increase:

Those bright Fires which are come

To crown our Souls with Martyrdom.

Happy is the Soul that dies

Loves All-willing-Sacrifice.