Words: Isaac Watts, Horæ Lyricæ, 1705, Book 1, page 82.
If you have access to a good photo of Dressler (head-and-shoulders, at least 200×300 pixels), would you send us an e-mail?
Dead be my heart to all below,
To mortal joys and mortal cares,
To sensual bliss that charms us so,
Be dark, my eyes, and deaf, my ears.
Here I renounce my carnal taste
Of the fair fruit that sinners prize:
Their paradise shall never waste
One thought of mine, but to despise.
All earthly joys are overweighed
With mountains of vexatious care;
And where’s the sweet that is not laid
A bait to some destructive snare?
Be gone for ever, mortal things!
Thou mighty mole-hill, earth, farewell!
Angels aspire on lofty wings,
And leave the globe for ants to dwell.
Come, Heav’n, and fill my vast desires,
My soul pursues the sovereign good;
She was all made of heav’nly fires,
Nor can she live on meaner food.