MY stock lies dead, and no increase Doth my dull husbandrie improve: O let thy graces, without cease, Drop from above! If still the sunne should hide his face, Thy house would but a dungeon prove, Thy works nights captives: O let grace Drop from above! The dew doth ev'ry morning fall; And shall the dew outstrip thy Dove? The dew, for which grasse cannot call, Drop from above! Death is still working like a mole, And digs my grave at each remove: Let grace work too, and on my soul Drop from above. Sinne is still hammering my heart Unto a hardnesse void of love: Let suppling grace, to crosse his art, Drop from above. O come! for thou dost know the way; Or if to me thou wilt not move, Remove me, where I need not say, -- Drop from above. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A GIRL'S GARDEN by ROBERT FROST THE DARKLING THRUSH by THOMAS HARDY THE GRASSHOPPER AND THE CRICKET by JAMES HENRY LEIGH HUNT A DREAM, AFTER READING DANTE'S EPISODE OF PAULO & FRANCESCA by JOHN KEATS TO GOD AND IRELAND TRUE by ELLEN O'LEARY THE CORAL GROVE by JAMES GATES PERCIVAL IAMBICUM TRIMETRUM, FR. LETTER TO HARVEY by EDMUND SPENSER WAYCONNELL TOWER by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM MISADVENTURES AT MARGATE; A LEGEND OF JARVIS'S JETTY by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM |