This poem is from his anthology 'The Temple' (1633)
Oh Book! infinite sweetness! let my heart
Suck ev'ry letter, and a honey gain,
Precious for any grief in any part;
To clear the breast, to mollify all pain.
Thou art all health, health thriving till it make
A full eternity: thou art a mass
Of strange delights, where we may wish and take.
Ladies, look here; this is the thankful glass,
That mends the looker's eyes: this is the well
That washes what it shows. Who can endear
Thy praise too much? thou art heav'n's Ledger here,
Working against the states of death and hell.
Thou art joy's hand sell: heav'n lies flat in thee,
Subject to ev'ry mounter's bended knee.
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