When we a gem or precious stone have lost,
Is not the fabric or the frame
Of fancy busied, and each thing tossed
And turned within the room,
Till we the same
Can find again? Is't not a martyrdom?

Doth vanity affect us so, yet are
We slumber-charmed, nor can employ
A thought that backward might reduce, so far,
Lively to represent
Our misery,
Who fell and thus incurred a banishment?

Shall we leave any corner reason lends
To give sense light, unsought, untried?
To find how far our liberty extends,
And how refound we were
Re-edified
By th' Shepherd, and by the Son of the carpenter?

May not this skill and love in him requite
The white and better stone to mark,
And t' raise this time above all others higher,
Wherein He came (through Light)
Into the dark,
For to restore unto mankind its sight?

Most sure it will: and where neglect denies
To be observant of the day,
It proves not only forfeiture of eyes,
But all parts seem asleep
Or gone astray-
So's the house again unbuilt, and lost the sheep.