« PreviousContinue »
Esu, no more! It is full tide.
What need thy fair head bear a part
Thy restlesse feet now cannot goe
Thy hands to give, thou canst not lift; Yet will thy hand still giving be.
It gives but ô, it self's the gift.
It gives though bound; though bound 'tis free.
But thy side, thy deep-digg'd side!
No hair so small, but payes his river
But while I speak, whither are run All the rivers nam'd before?
I counted wrong.
There is but one;
Rain-swoln rivers may rise proud, .
This thy blood's deluge, a dire chance
A deluge least we should be drown'd.
N'ere wast thou in a sense so sadly true, The WELL of living WATERS, Lord, till now.
THE CROWNE OF THORNS
From the head of our Bl. LORD,
Now'st thou This, Souldier? 'Tis à much-chang'd plant
O who so hard a Husbandman did ever find;
Is not the soile a kind one, which returnes
THE BODY OF OUR
Hey 'have left thee naked, LORD, O that th
Thee with thy self they have too richly clad; Opening the purple wardrobe in thy side.
O never could there be garment too good For thee to wear, But this, of thine own Blood.