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life & me
And at the Humble foot
That so we may
At least be in loves way;
So fast'twixt him & thee,
O you, your own best Darts
Hail; & strike home & make me see
Come wounds! come darts !
Nail'd hands! & peirced hearts !
Nor grudge á yonger-Brother
Shall I, sett there
(Dear wounds) & onely now
O be more wise
I[f] not more soft, mine eyes!
Dissolve my Dayes & Howres.
Rich Queen, lend some releife;
To'a heart who by sad right of sin
By all those stings
Of love, sweet bitter things, Which these torn hands transcrib'd on thy true heart
O teach mine too the art To study him so, till we mix Wounds, and become one crucifix.
0 let me suck the wine
Till drunk of the dear wounds, I be
O faithfull freind
Of me & of my end!
My dear lord's vitall death.
Esu, no more! It is full tide.
From thy head & from thy feet,
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 ô thy side, thy deep-digg’d side!
No hair so small, but payes his river
But while I speak, whither are run
There is but one;
Rain-swoln rivers may rise proud,
This thy blood's deluge, a dire chance
N’ere wast thou in a sense so sadly true, The Well of living Waters, Lord, till now.