Heaven’s great artillery.

Thou water turn’st to wine, fair friend of life; Thy foe, to cross the sweet arts of Thy reign, Distils from thence the tears of wrath and strife, And so turns wine to water back again.

In love’s field was never found A nobler weapon than a wound.

And when life’s sweet fable ends, soul and body part like friends; no quarrels, murmurs, no delay; a kiss, a sigh, and so away.

Nights, sweet as they, Made short by lovers play, Yet long by the absence of the day.

Great little One! whose all-embracing birth Lifts Earth to Heaven, stoops Heaven to Earth.

All thy old woes shall now smile on thee, and thy pains sit bright on thee. All thy sorrows here shall shine and thy sufferings be divine; Tears shall take comfort and turn to gems and wrongs repent to diadems Even thy deaths shall live and new dress the soul that once they slew.

Two went to pray? Better to say one went to brag, the other to pray.

Heaven's great artillery.

And when life's sweet fable ends, soul and body part like friends; no quarrels, murmurs, no delay; a kiss, a sigh, and so away.