BLIND foolish @3Jews,@1 ye Stones yee throw Though rude as you, shall pretious grow, And sparkle in ye Martyrs Crowne, Whom yee exalt by beating downe, Or serve to pave his way On's Coronation Day. As ye @3Arabian@1 Sweets are bruis'd To make them sweeter; so y'have use'd Our pretious patient Saint: see now What store of Odours from Him flow, Which in a cloud arise Perfuming all ye skies. What odoriferous Prayers from His beaten bruised Mouth doe come! How like an Incense Offring they To Gods owne Nostrills make their Way, Striving to pacifie The angry Dietie! For You He prayes, & louder beats Heavns Gate, then all your bloody threats And stones doe Him. But having sed His Prayers, he falls asleep; his Bed Indeed is hard, yet this The Bed of Honour is. And Honour sweeten's every bed, And gently doth repose ye Head Of Noble Hero's: Tis not all Your rampant cursing noise that shall Keep @3Steven@1 from Sleeping on His hardy Bed of Stone. There sleeps his reverend Body. But His soaring Spirit to Heavn is got; Nor wears He onely in his Name A Crowne, but on his Head doth flame Felicities pure gemme, An Heavnly Diademe. He crowned is, & is with all The Crowne of that stout Troop, wch shall Upon their Heads wear ruby beames And grained Purple Diadems The crowne of those who give Their lives away to live. Receive my Spirit @3Lord Jesu@1 cry'd The Noble Saint, & so he dy'd. O no, He then began to live A Life, wch Life could never give. Death is ye Art wherby Martyrs leave off to dy. He gan to live, & gan to prove His Sacred Ministry above. The @3Deacon@1 gan to wait upon The Soveraigne @3Priests@1 triumphant Throne; And by that Service, He Began a King to be: @3Jesus@1 is King of Kings, & his Kingdome by Saints impeopled is, Who from his Crowne's reflected beams Doe all receive their Diadems; So they all reigne in blisse, Yet He sole Soveraigne is. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TOWERS OF SIMON RODIA; FOR HOWARD W. SWENSON 1903-1081 by KAREN SWENSON REAR-PORCHES OF AN APARTMENT-BUILDING by MAXWELL BODENHEIM SONGS FOR MY MOTHER: 2. HER HANDS by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH DOWNFALL OF POLAND [FALL OF WARSAW, 1794] by THOMAS CAMPBELL THE RESOLVE by MARY LEE CHUDLEIGH FORGETFULNESS by HAROLD HART CRANE |