Classic and Contemporary Poetry
S. BARNABAS, by JOSEPH BEAUMONT First Line: Tis not so poore a thing to be Last Line: That heathen god e'r sate upon. Subject(s): Barnabas, Saint (1st Century); Christianity | ||||||||
TIS not so poore a thing to be Servants to Heavn, Deare Lord, & Thee As Earth would make it; no not heere In thy Humilities low Sphear; Not heer where scoffings & Disgraces Use to be heaped on their faces, As on thy blessed Selfe they were When Thou didst breathe, & grace our Aire. Through thine owne humble veile there broke Sometimes such Noble Beams as spoke The Sun within: Let Tabor be Witnesse to this faire Veritie. Thus didst Thou prove Thy Selfe; & thus Assert'st thy Saints illustrious By Glimpses of that Glory Thou Aforehand dost on Them bestow. This royall Splendor faire did rise In all ye wondring Lystrians eyes, Whilst they beheld what Power there was Dwelling in Paul & Barnabas: One, who since first he came into The world, in it could never goe On Natures errands, leapeth now, And feeles his feet obedient grow To Pauls command: No Lamenesse dares Be lame, where so great Power appeares. But, let what weakness will say nay, Forthwith finds legs to run away. Away that runs, & in its roome The ravish'd People crowding come: Great Names of Gods (though Gods alas Lesse reall then those Names) did passe For current in their Pagan Creed: But now, say they, we have no need Of perblinde Faith, who cleerly see Naked & plaine Divinitie Walking & working heer; nor shall Those vocall masks, ye Names of Paul And Barnabas, snatch from our Eyes Our Two Omnipotent Deities: Paul is not Paul, but noble He Is ye most eloquent Mercurie; And Barnabas no lesse then Jove Father of all ye Gods above. For Gods they are though clothed in The Garb & countenance of Men. Now comes ye Priest of Jove, & brings His fattest finest Offerings, Selected Oxen, & ye Pride Of every beauteous Garden, tye'd In dainty Garlands, so to please And welcome their grand Deities. And who shall heer forbid, says He, Great Jupiters High Priest to be True to his Office, & to day Unto his God his homage pay? Why that will We, cry They, for whom This Pompe & Sacrifice is come. Behold we rend our clothes, & know Our Hearts are wounded more then so, To think that you should Us adore, Who are as brittle & as poore Dust as your Selves; & Him neglect, Whom We, you worship so, respect As onely God & greater far Then your greatest Jupiter. A God that made both Him & you, Both Things above, & Things below, A God whose Clouds doe drop on Us A seasonable fruitfullness, And wet Joves rotten Grave, from whom You needs will dreame ye Raine doth come. Alas we were more Lame than He, Whom heer We heal'd to day could be Untill our God helped us; & now That onely God we preach to you. And thus indeed our Saints did stay The Peoples Sin; but ope'd a way To greater glory: Noble odds They now have gaind on Pagan Gods, Who might have had, but did despise Ev'n Jupiters owne sacrifice. Thus To be JESUS Servants, speaks More royall Splendor far then breaks Forth from ye most Majestike Throne That Heathen God e'r sate upon. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EL GRECO: ESPOLIO by EARL (EARLE) BIRNEY RELIGIOUS INSTRUCTION by MINA LOY THE INCARNATE ONE by EDWIN MUIR OUR LADY OF ARDBOE by PAUL MULDOON LITTLE WHITE CHURCH by MARILYN NELSON Γενεθλιακον by JOSEPH BEAUMONT Γενεθλιακον by JOSEPH BEAUMONT A CONCLUSORIE HUMNE TO THE SAME WEEK; & FOR MY FRIEND by JOSEPH BEAUMONT |
|