Than Heaven more remote

Than Heaven more remote,

For Heaven is the root,

But these the flitted seed.

More flown indeed

Than ones that never were,

Or those that hide, and are.

What madness, by their side,

A vision to provide

Of future days

They cannot praise.

My soul, to find them, come,

They cannot call, they're dumb,

Nor prove, nor woo,

But that they have abode

Is absolute as God,

And instant, too.