Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, AD S. ANGELUM CUSTODEM, by JOSEPH BEAUMONT


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

AD S. ANGELUM CUSTODEM, by                    
First Line: Who e'r thou art, oh yt I knew thy name
Last Line: To lift me up, & lead me in ye way.
Subject(s): Angels; Fear; Prayer


WHO e'r Thou art, oh yt I knew thy Name,
My winged Guardian, as Thou knowest mine;
Faire in my verses would I write ye same,
And what my Name doth want, supply by thine.

Who e'r Thou art, for certaine simple I
Unworthy am to be thy Ward & Care:
Why should Immortall Spirits hither fly
And spend their time on Dust & Ashes heer?

Is it not faire ye Stars dart Us their Light,
To look about Us, & ourselves defend;
But higher Flames, & far more rich & bright
Leaving their Orbs, Themselves to Us must lend?

Does Heavn come downe aforehand to be sure
To catch Us up at length, & send us hither
Some of its Natives, whose care may inure
Us to its fashions e'r We climb up thither?

Or come these sweet protectors Us to cover
As We doe journey in this dangerous Way;
Whose courteous Wings over our Heads doe hover
Lest this lifes Tempests blow our Dust away?

Sure for these Reasons, & for more then these,
Which LOVE well wots of: He yt marks their Eyes,
Their Face, their Wings, their yeouthfull vigour; sees
That LOVE their Master is, who them imployes.

O my Deare Freind, Dearest but Him whose love
Befreinded Me with Thee, what shall I say!
wch way so e'r my labouring thoughts doe move,
Profound amazement standeth in their way.

What shall I say! Hadst Thou no work at home,
Where Nothing dwells, but pure as thine owne eyes;
That Thou shouldst leave them, & thy Selfe, to come
And wait on Me, & my Deformities?

Is not all Heavn, & what makes Heavn to be
The Name of sweetnesse, is not JESU'S Face
More worth ye looking on? Deserves not He
The Service, which on me Thou dost displace?

Or is ye Quire above so meane a Thing,
And Hallelujah grown so dull a Song,
That in mine eare Thou choosest now to sing
And to my Heart-strings tune thy charming toung?

Oh how dost Thou Sweet Spirit, indure in Mee
What I doe blush at? And this is, alas,
My Selfe, ev'n all my Selfe: nought can I see
But one confused & polluted Masse.

Canst Thou attend on Him, whose hatefull Will
Kicks his and thy Creators Laws? Canst Thou
Him with Thy Silver Feathers shelter still
Whose Life prefers those in a Bed below?

Were it thy charge at Edens Gate to stand,
And with a two-edged Flame stop Me from thence;
Well would that Sword become thy Heavnly hand;
So faire a place deserves thy sweet Defence.

But armed wth stouter Flames of patient Love
Thou strivst at that sweet Gate to thrust me in;
That I a Bird of Paradise might prove,
No more a Swarthy Rav'n, tannd black with sin.

Ne'r did ripe Dangers my poore Breath assaile,
But Thou wert ready still to play my part:
Allways for Me did Thy Sweet Wings prevaile
And fannd fresh Comfort on my panting Heart.

Thou wouldst not have me snatcht by Sudden Death,
But be allow'd full time to mortifie,
That I might stop, e'r Shee did mine, Sins Breath,
Till I can live Thou wouldst not have Me dye.

When I doe sleep, whither by Day or Night
(For I'm but halfe-awake when I am up:)
And thousand unseen Spirits against Me fight,
Thy stout Protection all their force doth stop.

Forbeare, saist Thou, foule Cowards, to oppose
A little Thing of Dust; or know that I
Am set to keep these Mud walls from their foes;
Have you forgot ye feild We fought on high?

Then breathst Thou vigour through my trembling Breast,
And clap'st thy wings upon my fearfull back;
That so incourag'd I might doe my best
Where nothing, but mine owne Will I can lack.

The more ye Shame: How oft have I betrayd
My Selfe & Thee! & flung away ye sheild
None could have wrested from Mee, till I laid
It downe my Selfe, & was content to yeild.

Couldst Thou be angry, Surely Thou wouldst be
My greatest foe, as being offended most,
Excepting Him, who Guards both Thee & Mee,
Him onely have my Crimes more fowly crost.

For His dear sake be Thou like Him, & spare
Those Provocations, wch I offer Thee:
Or draw thy Wrath, & strike a wholsome feare
On all these Sins wch vex both Thee & Mee.

So may thy awfull Presence teach my Heart
Heer to acquaint wth thy pure Company;
And in our Makers Prayses bear her part,
If He so pleases in your Quire on high.

So when ye Trump sounds in my hollow Grave,
To wake this Dust to an Immortall Day,
Thy hands Sweet Help, & conduct may I have
To lift me up, & lead me in ye way.





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