Crashaw's invitations to holiness breathe the very gallantry of piety. He addresses "the noblest and best of ladies, the Countess of Denbigh," who had been his patroness in exile, "persuading her to resolution in religion."
"What heaven-entreated heart is this
Stands trembling at the gate of bliss.
What magic bolts, what mystic bars
Maintain the will in these strange wars!
What fatal, what fantastic bands
Keep the free heart from its own hands!
So, when the year takes cold, we see
Poor waters their own prisoners be;
Fetter'd and lock'd up fast, they lie
In a sad self-captivity;
Th' astonish'd nymphs their floods' strange fate deplore,
To see themselves their own severer shore.
Disband dull fears; give Faith the day;
To save your life, kill your delay;
It is Love's siege, and sure to be
Your triumph, though his victory."
His poem, "The Weeper," shoots the prismatic hues of the rainbow athwart the veil of fast-falling tears:
"Hail sister springs,
Parents of silver-footed rills!
Ever bubbling things!
Thawing crystal! snowy hills!
Still spending, never spent; I mean
Thy fair eyes, sweet Magdalene.