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Has
not
the
power
to
see
of
grace
divine
,
Although
his
sight
may
not
discern
the
bottom
.
"
Like
as
a
lark
that
in
the
air
expatiates
,
First
singing
and
then
silent
with
content
Of
the
last
sweetness
that
doth
satisfy
her
,
Such
seemed
to
me
the
image
of
the
imprint
Of
the
eternal
pleasure
,
by
whose
will
Doth
everything
become
the
thing
it
is
.
And
notwithstanding
to
my
doubt
I
was
As
glass
is
to
the
colour
that
invests
it
,
