Come, come thou glorious Object of my sight,
O my Joy, my life, my only delight!
may this glad minute be blest to eternity.
See how the glim'ring Tapers of the sky
do gaze and wonder at our constancy!
how they crowd to behold 
what our Arms do enfold!
how all do envy our felicity, 
and grudge the triumph of Selindras eyes!
how Cinthia seeks to shrowd 
her crescent in yond cloud,
where sad night puts her sable mantle on,
thy light mistaking,
hasteth to be gone,
her gloomy shades give way 
as at th' approach of day,
and all the Planets shrink for fear
to be ecclips'd by a brighter Deity.

Look, O look how the pale Lights do fall
& adore what before the Heavens 
have not shown,
not their God-head known,
such a faith, such a love, 
as may move mighty Jove from above,
to discend and remain among Mortals again.