Jerusalem the golden (J.M. Neale and Hymns Ancient and Modern)

Jerusalem the golden,

  With milk and honey blest,
Beneath thy contemplation

  Sink heart and voice opprest.
I know not, O I know not,

  What social joys are there,
What radiancy of glory,

  What light beyond compare.

They stand, those halls of Sion,

  Conjubilant with song,
And bright with many an angel,

  And all the martyr throng;
The Prince is ever in them,

   The daylight is serene,
The pastures of the blessed

  Are decked in glorious sheen.

There is the throne of David,

  And there, from care released,
The song of them that triumph,

  The shout of them that feast;
And they who, with their Leader,

  Have conquered in the fight,
For ever and for ever

  Are clad in robes of white.

O sweet and blessèd country,

  Shall I ever see thy face?
O sweet and blessèd country,

  Shall I ever win thy grace?
Exult, O dust and ashes!

  The Lord shall be thy part:
His only, his for ever,

  Thou shalt be, and thou art!

from De contemptu mundi (Bernard of Cluny)

Urbs Sion aurea, patria lactea, cive decora,

omne cor obruis, omnibus obstruis et cor et ora.
Nescio, nescio quae iubilatio, lux tibi qualis,
quam socialia gaudia, gloria quam specialis.
Laude studens ea tollere mens mea, victa fatiscit.
O bona gloria, vincor in omnia laus tua vicit.
Sunt Sion atria coniubilantia, martyre plena,
cive micantia, principe stantia, luce serena.
Sunt ibi pascua mitibus afflua praestita sanctis.
regis ibi thronus agminis et sonus est epulantis,
gens duce splendida, concio candida vestibus albis;
sunt sine fletibus in Sion aedibus, aedibus almis.

Heaven (George Herbert)

O Who will show me those delights on high?
            Echo: I.
Thou Echo, thou art mortall, all men know.
            Echo: No.
Wert thou not born among the trees and leaves?
            Echo: Leaves.
And are there any leaves, that still abide?
            Echo: Bide.
What leaves are they? impart the matter wholly.
            Echo: Holy.
Are holy leaves the Echo then of blisse?
            Echo: Yes.
Then tell me, what is that supreme delight?
            Echo: Light.
Light to the minde: what shall the will enjoy?
            Echo: Joy.
But are there cares and businesse with the pleasure?
            Echo: Leisure.
Light, joy, and leisure; but shall they persever?
            Echo: Ever.

from Helena, chapter 11, Epiphany (Evelyn Waugh)

'Like me,' she said to them, 'you were late in coming.  The shepherds were here long before; even the cattle.  They had joined the chorus of angels before you were on your way.  For you the primordial discipline of the heavens was relaxed and a new defiant light blazed amid the disconcerted stars.

'How laboriously you came, taking sights and calculating, where the shepherds had run barefoot!  How odd you looked on the road, attended by what outlandish liveries, laden with such preposterous gifts!

'You came at length to the final stage of your pilgrimage and the great star stood still above you.  What did you do?  You stopped to call on King Herod.  Deadly exchange of compliments in which began that unended war of mobs and magistrates against the innocent!

'Yet you came, and were not turned away.  You too found room before the manger.  Your gifts were not needed, but they were accepted and put carefully by, for they were brought with love.  In that new order of charity that had just come to life, there was room for you, too.  You were not lower in the eyes of the holy family than the ox or the ass.

'You are my especial patrons,' said Helena, 'and patrons of all late-comers, of all who have a tedious journey to make to the truth, of all who are confused with knowledge and speculation, of all who through politeness make themselves partners in guilt, of all who stand in danger by reason of their talents.

'Dear cousins, pray for me,' said Helena, 'and for my poor overloaded son.  May he, too, before the end find kneeling-space in the straw.  Pray for the great, lest they perish utterly.  And pray for Lactantius and Marcias and the young poets of Trèves and for the souls of my wild, blind ancestors; for their sly foe Odysseus and for the great Longinus.

'For His sake who did not reject your curious gifts, pray always for all the learned, the oblique, the delicate.  Let them not be quite forgotten at the Throne of God when the simple come into their kingdom.'

BC:AD (U.A. Fanthorpe)

This was the moment when Before
Turned into After, and the future's
Uninvented timekeepers presented arms.

This was the moment when nothing
Happened. Only dull peace
Sprawled boringly over the earth.

This was the moment when even energetic Romans
Could find nothing better to do
Than counting heads in remote provinces.

And this was the moment
When a few farm workers and three
Members of an obscure Persian sect
Walked haphazard by starlight straight
Into the kingdom of heaven.

On leaving some Friends at an early Hour (John Keats)

Give me a golden pen, and let me lean
On heap'd up flowers, in regions clear, and far;
Bring me a tablet whiter than a star,
Or hand of hymning angel, when 'tis seen
The silver strings of heavenly harp atween:
And let there glide by many a pearly car,
Pink robes, and wavy hair, and diamond jar,
And half discovered wings, and glances keen.
The while let music wander round my ears,
And as it reaches each delicious ending,
Let me write down a line of glorious tone,
And full of many wonders of the spheres:
For what a height my spirit is contending!
'Tis not content so soon to be alone.