Richard Crashaw

Here you will find the Long Poem To the Name above every Name, the Name of Jesus of poet Richard Crashaw

To the Name above every Name, the Name of Jesus

I sing the Name which None can say 
But touch?t with An interiour Ray: 
The Name of our New Peace; our Good: 
Our Blisse: and Supernaturall Blood: 
The Name of All our Lives and Loves. 
Hearken, And Help, ye holy Doves! 
The high-born Brood of Day; you bright 
Candidates of blissefull Light, 
The Heirs Elect of Love; whose Names belong 
Unto The everlasting life of Song; 
All ye wise Soules, who in the wealthy Brest 
Of This unbounded Name build your warm Nest. 
Awake, My glory. Soul, (if such thou be, 
And That fair Word at all referr to Thee) 
Awake and sing 
And be All Wing; 
Bring hither thy whole Self; and let me see 
What of thy Parent Heaven yet speakes in thee, 
O thou art Poore 
Of noble Powres, I see, 
And full of nothing else but empty Me, 
Narrow, and low, and infinitely lesse 
Then this Great mornings mighty Busynes. 
One little World or two 
(Alas) will never doe. 
We must have store. 
Goe, Soul, out of thy Self, and seek for More. 
Goe and request 
Great Nature for the Key of her huge Chest 
Of Heavns, the self involving Sett of Sphears 
(Which dull mortality more Feeles then heares) 
Then rouse the nest 
Of nimble, Art, and traverse round 
The Aiery Shop of soul-appeasing Sound: 
And beat a summons in the Same 
All-soveraign Name 
To warn each severall kind 
And shape of sweetnes, Be they such 
As sigh with supple wind 
Or answer Artfull Touch, 
That they convene and come away 
To wait at the love-crowned Doores of 
This Illustrious Day. 
Shall we dare This, my Soul? we?l doe?t and bring 
No Other note for?t, but the Name we sing. 
Wake Lute and Harp 
And every sweet-lipp?t Thing 
That talkes with tunefull string; 
Start into life, And leap with me 
Into a hasty Fitt-tun?d Harmony. 
Nor must you think it much 
T?obey my bolder touch; 
I have Authority in Love?s name to take you 
And to the worke of Love this morning wake you; 
Wake; In the Name 
Of Him who never sleeps, All Things that Are, 
Or, what?s the same, 
Are Musicall; 
Answer my Call 
And come along; 
Help me to meditate mine Immortall Song. 
Come, ye soft ministers of sweet sad mirth, 
Bring All your houshold stuffe of Heavn on earth; 
O you, my Soul?s most certain Wings, 
Complaining Pipes, and prattling Strings, 
Bring All the store 
Of Sweets you have; And murmur that you have no more. 
Come, né to part, 
Nature and Art! 
Come; and come strong, 
To the conspiracy of our Spatious song. 
Bring All the Powres of Praise 
Your Provinces of well-united Worlds can raise; 
Bring All your Lutes and Harps of Heaven and Earth; 
What ére cooperates to The common mirthe 
Vessells of vocall Ioyes, 
Or You, more noble Architects of Intellectuall Noise, 
Cymballs of Heav?n, or Humane sphears, 
Solliciters of Soules or Eares; 
And when you?are come, with All 
That you can bring or we can call; 
O may you fix 
For ever here, and mix 
Your selves into the long 
And everlasting series of a deathlesse Song; 
Mix All your many Worlds, Above, 
And loose them into One of Love. 
Chear thee my Heart! 
For Thou too hast thy Part 
And Place in the Great Throng 
Of This unbounded All-imbracing Song. 
Powres of my Soul, be Proud! 
And speake lowd 
To All the dear-bought Nations This Redeeming Name, 
And in the wealth of one Rich Word proclaim 
New Similes to Nature. 
May it be no wrong 
Blest Heavns, to you, and your Superiour song, 
That we, dark Sons of Dust and Sorrow, 
A while Dare borrow 
The Name of Your Dilights and our Desires, 
And fitt it to so farr inferior Lyres. 
Our Murmurs have their Musick too, 
Ye mighty Orbes, as well as you, 
Nor yeilds the noblest Nest 
Of warbling Seraphim to the eares of Love, 
A choicer Lesson then the joyfull Brest 
Of a poor panting Turtle-Dove. 
And we, low Wormes have leave to doe 
The Same bright Busynes (ye Third Heavens) with you. 
Gentle Spirits, doe not complain. 
We will have care 
To keep it fair, 
And send it back to you again. 
Come, lovely Name! Appeare from forth the Bright 
Regions of peacefull Light, 
Look from thine own Illustrious Home, 
Fair King of Names, and come. 
Leave All thy native Glories in their Georgeous Nest, 
And give thy Self a while The gracious Guest 
Of humble Soules, that seek to find 
The hidden Sweets 
Which man?s heart meets 
When Thou art Master of the Mind. 
Come, lovely Name; life of our hope! 
Lo we hold our Hearts wide ope! 
Unlock thy Cabinet of Day 
Dearest Sweet, and come away. 
Lo how the thirsty Lands 
Gasp for thy Golden Showres! with longstretch?t Hands. 
Lo how the laboring Earth 
That hopes to be 
All Heaven by Thee, 
Leapes at thy Birth. 
The? attending World, to wait t