NOT in rich furniture, or fine array, Nor in a wedge of gold, Thou, who from me wast sold, To me dost now thyself convey; For so thou should'st without me still have been, Leaving within me sinne: But by the way of nourishment and strength, Thou creep'st into my breast; Making thy way my rest, And thy small quantities my length; Which spread their forces into every part, Meeting sinnes force and art. Yet can these not get over to my soul, Leaping the wall that parts Our souls and fleshly hearts; But as th' outworks, they may controll My rebel-flesh, and carrying thy name, Affright both sinne and shame. Onely thy grace, which with these elements comes, Knoweth the ready way, And hath the privie key, Op'ning the souls most subtile rooms: While those to spirits refin'd, at doore attend Despatches from their friend. Give me my captive soul, or take My body also thither. Another lift like this will make Them both to be together. Before that sinne turn'd flesh to stone, And all our lump to leaven; A fervent sigh might well have blown Our innocent earth to heaven. For sure, when Adam did not know To sinne, or sinne to smother, He might to heav'n from Paradise go, As from one room t' another. Thou hast restor'd us to this ease By this thy heav'nly bloud, Which I can go to when I please, And leave th' earth to their food. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE HASTY PUDDING by JOEL BARLOW INVERSNAID by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE by JOHN KEATS SHILLIN' A DAY by RUDYARD KIPLING SONG OF SLAVES IN THE DESERT by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER LINES COMPOSED A FEW MILES ABOVE TINTERN ABBEY by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH ZOPHIEL; OR THE BRIDE OF SEVEN: CANTO 2. DEATH OF ALTHEETOR by MARIA GOWEN BROOKS |