Hope Holds to Christ

Hope holds to Christ the mind’s own mirror out  

To take His lovely likeness more and more.  

It will not well, so she would bring about  

An ever brighter burnish than before  

And turns to wash it from her welling eyes

And breathes the blots off all with sighs on sighs.  

Her glass is blest but she as good as blind  

Holds till hand aches and wonders what is there;  

Her glass drinks light, she darkles down behind,  

All of her glorious gainings unaware.

I told you that she turned her mirror dim  

Betweenwhiles, but she sees herself not Him.