Glorious deceptions, gilded mists,
False joyes, phantastick flights.
In the distance before him there shines
An air of glory
Whose light doth trample on my days;
My days, which are at best but dull and hoary,
Meer glimmering and decays;
and he lifts up his voice in passionate desire for the ultimate deliverance:--
Ah! what time will it come? When shall that crie
The Bridegroome's comming! fill the sky?