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AN HYMN TO GOD THE FATHER

HEAR me, O God!

A broken heart
Is my best part:
Use still thy rod,
That I may prove,
Therein, Thy love.

If thou hadst not
Been stern to me,
But left me free,
I had forgot

Myself and Thee.

For, sin's so sweet,
As minds ill-bent
Rarely repent,
Unless they meet

Their punishment.

Who more can crave

Than Thou hast done?

Thou gav'st a Son
To free a slave,

First made of nought,
With all since bought.

Sin, death, and hell

His glorious Name
Quite overcame;
Yet I rebel,

And slight the same.

But, I'll come in
Before my loss
Me farther toss;
As sure to win

Under his cross.

JOHN DONNE [1573-1631]

SONG

Go and catch a falling star,
Get with child a mandrake root,
Tell me where all times past are,
Or who cleft the devil's foot;
Teach me to hear mermaids singing,
Or to keep off envy's stinging,
And find

What wind

Serves to advance an honest mind.

If thou be'st born to strange sights,
Things invisible go see,

Ride ten thousand days and nights
Till age snow white hairs on thee;

Thou, when thou return'st, wilt tell me
All strange wonders that befell thee,

And swear

No where

Lives a woman true and fair.

If thou find'st one let me know,
Such a pilgrimage were sweet;
Yet do not; I would not go,

Though at next door we might meet.

Though she were true when you met her,

And last till you write your letter,

Yet she

Will be

False, ere I come, to two or three.

THE DREAM

DEAR love, for nothing less than thee
Would I have broke this happy dream;
It was a theme

For reason, much too strong for fantasy.
Therefore thou waked'st me wisely; yet
My dream thou brok'st not, but continued'st it.
Thou art so true that thoughts of thee suffice
To make dreams truths, and fables histories;
Enter these arms, for since thou thought'st it best
Not to dream all my dream, let's act the rest.

As lightning, or a taper's light,

Thine eyes, and not thy noise, waked me;
Yet I thought thee-

For thou lov'st truth-an angel, at first sight;

But when I saw thou saw'st my heart,

And knew'st my thoughts beyond an angel's art,

When thou knew'st what I dreamt, when thou knew'st when
Excess of joy would wake me, and cam'st then,

I must confess it could not choose but be
Profane to think thee anything but thee.

Coming and staying show'd thee, thee;
But rising makes me doubt that now
Thou art not thou;

That love is weak where fear's as strong as he:
'Tis not all spirit, pure and brave,

If mixture it of fear, shame, honour have.

Perchance as torches, which must ready be,

Men light and put out, so thou deal'st with me.
Thou cam'st to kindle, go'st to come: then I
Will dream that hope again, but else would die.

LOVE'S DEITY

I LONG to talk with some old lover's ghost
Who died before the God of Love was born.
I cannot think that he who then loved most
Sunk so low as to love one which did scorn.
But since this God produced a destiny;
And that vice-nature, custom, lets it be;

I must love her that loves not me.

Sure, they which made him god, meant not so much,
Nor he in his young godhead practiced it.
But when an even flame two hearts did touch,
His office was indulgently to fit
Actives to passives. Correspondency
Only his subject was; it cannot be
Love till I love her who loves me.

But every modern god will not extend
His vast prerogative as far as Jove.
To rage, to lust, to write to, to commend,
All is the purlieu of the God of Love.
O! were we waken'd by this tyranny
To ungod this child again, it could not be
I should love her who loves not me.

Rebel and atheist too, why murmur I,

As though I felt the worst that Love could do? Love may make me leave loving, or might try

A deeper plague, to make her love me too; Which, since she loves before, I'm loth to see. Falsehood is worse than hate; and that must be, If she whom I love, should love me.

THE FUNERAL

WHOEVER comes to shroud me, do not harm
Nor question much

That subtle wreath of hair about mine arm;
The mystery, the sign, you must not touch,
For 'tis my outward soul,

Viceroy to that which, unto heav'n being gone,
Will leave this to control

And keep these limbs, her provinces, from dissolution.

For if the sinewy thread my brain lets fall

Through every part

Can tie those parts, and make me one of all;
Those hairs, which upward grew, and strength and art

Have from a better brain,

Can better do't: except she meant that I

By this should know my pain,

As prisoners then are manacled, when they're condemn'd to die.

Whate'er she meant by't, bury it with me,
For since I am

Love's martyr, it might breed idolatry
If into other hands these reliques came.
As 'twas humility

T'afford to it all that a soul can do,

So 'tis some bravery

That, since you would have none of me, I bury some of you.

THE WILL

BEFORE I sigh my last gasp, let me breathe,
Great Love, some legacies. Here I bequeath
Mine eyes to Argus, if mine eyes can see;
If they be blind, then Love, I give them thee:
My tongue to Fame: to ambassadors mine ears:
To women, or the sea, my tears.

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