My heart is inditing a good matter: I speak of the things which I have made touching the king: my tongue is the pen of a ready writer. Thou art fairer than the children of men: grace is poured into thy lips: therefore God hath blessed thee for ever. (Psalm 45:1-2)
Thy human frame, my glorious Lord, I spy.
A golden still with Heavenly choice drugs filled
Thy holy love, the glowing heat whereby
The spirit of grace is graciously distilled.
Thy mouth the neck through which these spirits still;
My soul thy vial make, and therewith fill.
Thy speech the liquor in thy vessel stands,
Well tinged with grace, a blessed tincture, lo,
Thy words distilled grace in thy lips poured, and
Give graces tincture in them where they go.
Thy words in graces tincture stilled, Lord, may
The tincture of thy grace in me convey.
That golden mint of words thy mouth divine
Doth tip these words, which by my fall were spoiled:
And dub with gold dug out of graces mine,
That they thine image might have in them foiled.
Grace in thy lips poured out’s as liquid gold:
Thy bottle make my soul, Lord, it to hold.