Heaven First Sought: The Twenty-Third Sunday after Trinity

Whether I will or no, I find
Myself to happiness inclined,
What happiness I then desire,
I next inquire.

I all my inclinations weigh,
What would content them, bid them say,
But see they no enough will own,
Insatiate grown.

Pride, lust, and avarice still would crave,
Should they ten worlds for portion have,
Intoxicated though with store,
They’d thirst for more.

I then consult each learned sect,
Who authors numberless collect,
They who all sciences pursue
Enough ne’er knew.

In Solomon, of all mankind,
Wealth, honour, pleasure, wisdom join’d;
He felt the quintessential heights
Of all delights.

He strove with an unbridled will
Of sensual joys to take his fill,
Yet to his sorrow, found his gain
Vexatious, vain.

Our God in that great King design’d,
To unbeguile each worldly mind,
And teach that highest joys below
Expire in woe.

There’s no true satisfaction here,
’Tis only in the Heavenly sphere;
Souls who to perfect joys aspire
Quite lose desire.

In death enough saints shall not have,
Though flesh lies senseless in the grave;
And he their spirits shall dismiss
To enter bliss.

Enough no separate souls obtain,
Till bodies glorified they gain,
They’ll live in languishing desire
For bliss entire.

Jesus, to fix our choice aright,
Bids us first seek the realm of light,
And to His righteousness Divine
To co-incline.

None but the righteous are disposed
For joys in endless light disclosed;
Polluted souls the region pure
Would not endure.

Lest the vain world should us allure,
He deigns Heaven’s seekers to assure,
That God their portion just decreed
For earthly need.

Thus love unbounded overflows,
Both Heaven and earth on saints bestows:
What can the Infinite give more,
Or man implore?

If Heaven ye worldlings first would choose
And not enjoy this world, but use;
’Twill please you to subjection brought,
More than first sought.

My Jesus, had I sought Thee first,
I ne’er had felt afflicting thirst;
But this vain world from heavenly view
My spirit drew.

Lord, to that sovereign bliss I tend,
Which all-sufficient has no end,
Perfections which belong to none
But Thee alone.

Meanwhile I on my God rely,
The wants He wills me to supply;
My just enough He only knows,
For want or woes.

In God’s enough my soul shall rest,
Though here I am but partly bless’d,
Saints of the Cross have still alloy
To temper joy.

Enough we have for earthly need,
Heaven’s joys our foretastes far exceed,
Enough, my God, is where Thou art,
There lodge, my heart.