Johannes Agricola In Meditation

There's heaven above, and night by night     I look right through its gorgeous roof;     No suns and moons though e'er so bright     Avail to stop me; splendor-proof     I keep the broods of stars aloof:     For I intend to get to God,     For 't is to God I speed so fast,     For in God's    breast, my own abode,     Those shoals of dazzling glory, passed,     I lay my spirit down at last.     I lie where I have always lain,     God smiles as he has always smiled;     Ere suns and moons could wax and wane,     Ere stars were thundergirt, or piled     The heavens, God thought on me his child;     Ordained a life for me, arrayed     Its circumstances every one     To the minutest; ay, God said     This head this hand should rest upon     Thus, ere he fashioned star or sun.     And having thus created me,     Thus rooted me, he bade me grow,     Guiltless forever, like a tree     That buds and blooms, nor seeks to know     The law by which it prospers so:     But sure that thought and word and deed     All go to swell his love for me,     Me, made because that love had need     Of something irreversibly     Pledged solely its content to be.     Yes, yes, a tree which must ascend,     No poison-gourd foredoomed to stoop!     I have God's warrant, could I blend     All hideous sins, as in a cup,     To drink the mingled venoms up;     Secure my nature will convert     The draught to blossoming gladness fast:     While sweet dews turn to the gourd's hurt,     And bloat, and while they bloat it, blast,     As from the first its lot was cast.     For as I lie, smiled on, full-fed     By unexhausted power to bless,     I gaze below on hell's fierce bed,     And those its waves of flame oppress,     Swarming in ghastly wretchedness;     Whose life on earth aspired to be     One altar-smoke, so pure! to win     If not love like God's love for me,     At least to keep his anger in;     And all their striving turned to sin.     Priest, doctor, hermit, monk grown white     With prayer, the broken-hearted nun,     The martyr, the wan acolyte,     The incense-swinging child undone     Before God fashioned star or sun!     God, whom I praise; how could I praise,     If such as I might understand,     Make out and reckon on his ways,     And bargain for his love, and stand,     Paying a price, at his right hand?