Tears.

God from our eyes all tears hereafter wipes,
And gives His children kisses then, not stripes.

Our present tears here, not our present laughter,
Are but the handsels of our joys hereafter.

The tears of saints more sweet by far
Than all the songs of sinners are.

She wept upon her cheeks, and weeping so,
She seem'd to quench love's fire that there did glow.

When Julia chid I stood as mute the while
As is the fish or tongueless crocodile.
Air coin'd to words my Julia could not hear,
But she could see each eye to stamp a tear;
By which mine angry mistress might descry
Tears are the noble language of the eye.
And when true love of words is destitute
The eyes by tears speak, while the tongue is mute.

Tears, though they're here below the sinner's brine,
Above, they are the Angels' spiced wine.