Classic and Contemporary Poetry
S. JOHN BAPTIST, by JOSEPH BEAUMONT First Line: When nights black houres be almost spent Last Line: Then herod at his feast beheld thee heere. Subject(s): Christianity; Jesus Christ - Legends; John The Baptist, Saint (1st Century); Worship | ||||||||
I WHEN Nights black houres be almost spent, And her still stealing course is bent To some far West, where Shee doth crowd Behind ye World herselfe to shrowd, The royall Day Doth not straitway In its full grace Supply ye place; But quick Aurora sweetly faire Stepps in before to trimme ye Aire, Showing ten thousand Roses all before The Suns bright entrance at his easterne doore. The Jews thick Night (where ye huge shade Of duskie Ceremonies made Jacobs great Sun descry'd from far Appeare no more than Jacobs Star) When once it grew Mature, & drew Unto its end; Heavn strait did send An Harbenger to dresse the way With morning Glories for ye Day: The other darksome is to this Days Sun, Nor is Aurora faire compar'd with John. Elizabeth & Zacharie Grown old in spotlesse Pietie Shall have their yeouth renew'd & turne Againe unto their vigorous Morne, Whence shall be drawn This glorious Dawne: From such & none But such, may John Derive his Birth; a Plant so faire Must needs of some choice Root be Heire; A Stream so pure & holy could not be Issue to any Fount, but Sanctitie. Both in ye work & in ye Place Of Holynes ye Business was Reveal'd at first, whilst Gabriel spies Old Zacharie at Sacrifice. He spies Him, and Doth silent stand Aside, yt He No stop might be Unto ye reverend Service: but Archangells faces cannot shut Their lustre up so easily; Zacharies eye Though old & weak, its presence did descry. And as an awfull reverence did Through all his joints a trembling spread, Fair Gabriel with a gentle grace, Whilst all Heavn smiled in his face, Thus chears ye Saint; No time to faint Is this for Thee Blest Zacharie, But to grow young & strong againe Strong as thy Noble Prayers, wch streine And reach Heavns top with Clouds more sweet then those Which from that Incense Altar ever rose. Strong must Thou grow, & strong shall be The Partner of thy Pietie: Thy Dear Eliza shall bring forth A dearer Son; in whose great Berth Heavn being far Ingag'd, takes care About his Name, Which wer't ye same With Thine, ye World might take Him for Old Zacharies Issue, & no more: Heavn gives Thee Him, but bids Thee Name him John, For Heavns He is, & not Thy Son alone. Be tender therefore how you fashion Heavns blessed Darlings education: No wine nor no strong Drink must gin To kindle dangerous fervour in His Sacred Blood: The Virgin Flood Of some chaste Spring Shall dayly bring Supply unto his Cup, that He As pure & chaste as it may be: For in his infant venerable Breast The spotlesse Dove of Heavn will make its Nest. God means to come & dwell wth Men But will be nobly usherd in, And sends thy Son before to see His royall way prepared be. Hearts are ye path He chosen hath; And these alone By powerfull John Can conquerd be & force'd to meet All plaine & smoothe their Makers feet: For tis His Privelege fully to inherit Mighty Elia's most unconquerd Spirit. As strange as was ye Messenger Did this all-glorious News appear. Give leave. Illustrious Angell, cryes Good Zachary, if Doubts arise: Shall worthlesse I Grown old & drie, Againe revive And double live, Fresh in my Selfe, & in a Son So great, so pure, so strange a One? Surely this Wonder well deserves that Thou Some signe aforehand to my Faith allow. Know then, says He, I'm Gabriel, And that my honour is, to dwell Before ye Seat of God, & see The glories of Divinitie. Those Spirits, wch lie, Soar not so high, But groping dwell In lowest Hell Falshoods dark Kingdome: Truth alone Finds roome about the heavnly Throne. Yet take this Signe; thy Tongue wch ask'd it, shall Be mute, till Men shall Thee Johns Father call. And with this Word, into ye Aire More pure then it, vanishd ye faire And nimble Spirit; whilst Zacharie Doth after in devotion flie; In praise his Heart Could beare her parte; But on his Toung Did sit so strong The Silent Signe, that onely now The language of his Pen can show His dear Eliza what had made him dumbe, And what would ope her aged barren wombe. II Eliza found the Promise true Which with her Wombe still bigger grew, And to its plenitude did swell Moneth after moneth; whilst Gabriel Being to goe On busines to A Friend of hers This News inferrs Among ye rest, which Shee wth joy Imbraced, & contriv'd a way How to goe visit, & congratulate Her new revived Cosins pregnant state. No sooner was She come, & had Her gentle Salutation made, But strait Eliza's wombe prevents Her Tongues most forward Complements. The Babe, wch there Lay hid, did heare The Strangers Toung Which sweetly rung Heavn in his ears, & made him know His mighty Lord was neer him now; He knows those gratious words can speak no other But Heavns and Earths Delight, his Makers Mother. Wherefore before Eliza's lips Could let an answer out, He skips With sprightfull joy, & as He may Doth to his Lord his homage pay: Betimes He tries To exercise Himselfe, who was Designed to passe Before Him, & all things prepare As his most faithfull Harbenger: He leaps, & seems to chide ye Wombs delay Which stopt him now from entring on his way. At length ye happy time was come Which did release Him from ye wombe Unto his joyfull Mothers warme Kisses, & soft imbracing Arme. Her Friends about Her round, poure out In thousand fashions Of Gratulations Their Joyes & Wishes, every one Blessing ye Mother & ye Son. But when ye Circumcision Morning came, A pretty quarrell rose about his Name. His Friends desir'd He might inherit Both his great Fathers Name & Spirit, And in a kind presumption stilde Him Zachary. O no, ye Child Is mine, his Mother Cries, & no other But John shall be His Name: to me Dear is the Name of Zachary, Dear as my reverend Lord, yet I Must have my will; this Name say I, or none; Let Him be Zachary's son, but named John. And must We this Sweet Babe, say They, Unto a forrein Name betray? A Name not heard of yet in thy Old Famous Line and Family. Meanst Thou to pluck Him from ye stock Where Heavn hath set him, And not let Him Be come a Root from whence may rise An endlesse Brood of Zacharies? O let his Father end this quarrell, and May his most reverend Decision stand. Content, & what my Lord, says Shee, Does write shall prove a Law to Me. Grave Zachary no sooner takes The Table, but by it He speaks. His name is John. Which scarce was done, But strait He felt All ye Bands melt, Wherin Great Gabriel thus long Had kept close Prisoner his Toung. But now his Mouth flows with his Makers praise And vents his Spirit in inspired Layes. The sound of this restored Toung Through all ye Neighbor regions rung, Spreading Amazement all ye way Where e'r it travelled: yet they Who heard it, were Roused with fear And wonder, not So much at that As at ye Childs miraculous Fame, Which wth a louder Eccho came And pierc'd their Hearts: what will He prove, say They, Whose Birth through Wonders makes its Noble way? Why, He will prove all to be true That Gabriel did of Him forshow, He will not prove a Man for you, Nor for ye Life professd below. Betimes He grows Angell, & knows A way to ease His Soule of these So weildy worldly clogs: into The Deserts freedome He can goe Living alone with God, & learning there Of Him how He his Sons way must prepare. He thinks not much to leave behind Those dainty Clothes, wch lay ye Mind Open & naked: He can wear A suit of harsh, & homely hair; And so appeare More fine by far In Heavns strait view, Then finest you: A simple Thong girds Him as well As all your massy Belts, wch swell With Pearle & gold, this being garnished by The richest Gemme, poorest Humility. Though for his Portion, He might call Unto you yet He leaves them all, All those soft sweets, wch may invite Your Learned Palates to delight: From those wch you Away doe throw In fatt disdaine, He doth refraine As viands too too delicate For Him, who at a cheaper rate Can live & serve his God: poore Locusts are With wilde & casuall Honey, all his cheare. And chear enough: No want hath He All whose Desires answered be. No Art of Luxurie can please A Soule with such accomplishd Ease Which sets her free From Slavery Unto this Dust. No rampant Lust Flies up & blinds ye Eyes of John, Who Master of Himselfe alone, Can freely yeild what is so fully his Unto His Service, whom to serve is Blisse. III Thus waits He on His God, when loe The wondring World conspires to goe And pay Attendance unto Him, Judea & Jerusalem Both leave their home, And Pilgrims come Unto ye Wilde And desert field, Yea Jordan summons all his streame Thither to come & meet wth them; Such is ye Conflux, yt ye Wildernesse And that alone no Desert doth confesse. The Noble Preacher now begins Battle to bid against those sins, Which fought wth Heavn, & in its way Did thick & Foule obstructions lay. Take downe, He cries, Those Mounts which rise So high, & fill Those gaps of Hell, That so a Path all smooth may meet And kisse your Makers gratious feet. Pave all His way with Hearts, but let them be Gentle & soft, for such a One is He. Yet if you rugged make his Path, He can be like to it: in wrath Upon you can He trample, and Has Hell & Death at his Command. If you will prove Good wheat, his love And Armes shall be Your Granarie: But if his righteous Fan shall finde You worthlesse chaffe, his Angers winde, Which kindled ye eternall flames, shall cast You headlong in by its all-potent Blast. O turne in time, & with your tears Both quench yt fire, & drowne my fears. Repent, & He will doe so too, Who has decreed to overthrow All yt withstand His mighty hand. Soone will He heer In power appeare And you in Spirit & Fire baptize: O hearken then, & timely wise In Water first baptized be by Me So shall his Baptisme safe & welcome be. As Jordans crowding Streames made haste Into ye Sea themselves to cast; So into his fair channell now All The converted People flow, Hasting to drench Themselves, & quench Their thirsty Fire, Whose brave Desire Burnt all for Baptisme; now no more Trust They their Ceremonious store Of Legall Washings, which themselves did grow So foule, that now 'twas time to wash them too. Startled at this the High Priests take Advice about ye Point, & make Upon debate a Joint Decree To send Ambassadors, & see What was this John; Whither that Great One, On whom they had So long time fed Their highest Hopes, their deare Messias, Or the miraculous Elias Or some selected Prophet; for no lesse By his great Fame could they collect, then this. No, none of these, says He, am I; I am ye Voice sent out to crie, Make strait ye Way, & clear ye room That God unto his World may come. Though Mighty He Comes after Me, Yet does He too Before Me goe; As far before, as He could be Ev'n By compleat Eternitie. And I poor worme unworthy am to loose Ev'n but ye latchet of my Makers shoes. Peace humble Saint, for He must be Immediately baptiz'd by Thee. The more unworthy Thou dost deeme Thy selfe, ye worthyer dost Thou seeme To Heavn & Him; Who on ye brimme Of Jordan now Himselfe doth show, And wooe's thy Hand to wash him there. O no, cries John, Deare Lord forbeare, How can pollution wash such Puritie? All need have I to be washd clean by Thee. And so Thou shalt: Yet say not no, Now thy great Lord will have it so. Humilitie if once it side With Disobedience, swells to Pride. He needs not be Washed by Thee, But means to make Thy Hands partake Of nobler Puritie, whilst They In washing Him his Will obey; Whilst on that Sacred Head they water poure, Which Gods owne hand had dew'd wth Oile before. Now willing growne, yet trembling too About his great Work He doth goe; A Work so royall & so High As might Archangells dignifie, Yet deignd to none But humble John, His Hands wch were More pure & faire Then Jordans silver flood, he fills With it, & then with reverence spills It on ye Head of JESUS; & before His venerable feet his Soule doth poure. IIII This Busines done to Court He goes, A fitting Match to deal wth Those Illustrious high borne Sins, wch there In silks & Gold doe domineere; And which sometime Are seen to climbe Up to ye Throne And reigne alone Both over Prince & People too; And Herods Court was tainted so: The Tetrarch rules ye numerous Multitude Whilst by no fewer sins He is subdue'd. But John, who no displeasure feares, But His, whose Throne's above ye Sphears Dares bid ye Prince beware how He Offends an higher Majestie. Herod give eare, Says He, & heare What word to Thee Heavn sends by Me. Tis not thy Kingdome that can buy Thy Brothers Bed: O why should thy Fond lust, & old Herodias dearer be Then thy Gods Law, & thine owne Soule to Thee? Unto thy choise indulgent Heavn The fullnes of ye world hath given, Nor is Herodias alone The Noble & ye beauteous One: A lawfull Love As sweet may prove; And blesse thy Bed With nobler Seed. Could all ye world no Females show But that Herodias, yet Thou Must not have Her: but now thy choise is free, Take Thee some other Queen, & prosperous be. What fire so fierce as that of Lust When into furie it doth burst? Is Herod King, & must He be Bridled by such a Thing as He? What, must a young Poor Preachers Toung Limit his Love? Must He remove Out of his Breast his dearer Heart And Him, & his Herodias part? Forbid it all my Might, & Kingdome, cries The Prince: The Saucy Preacher surely dies. Whilst in his Breast this furie burnes, Into his Minde ye thought returnes How bright in all ye Peoples eyes Johns Sanctitie & Name did rise. To murder him Whom they did deem A Prophet, might Their Zeale incite To flat Rebellion, & ye King Unto a lost Condition bring: Yea They perhaps, what He had preached, by force Might execute, & hasten a Divorce. Yet must not He escape, nor I Be Prince in vaine, still He shall die, Though in a Death silent & long: I have a Prison dark & strong, Where He shall have His larger Grave, Whilst I doe live And freely give My Soule unto all Joyes in Thee Herodias, my Felicitie. And thus ye zealous Saint imprisoned is, And sent to trie a straiter wildernes. Now foolish Herod fearing none To check his lust, goes cheerly on. His Birthday comes, & as if now He liv'd anew, He means to show His Princely Joy; That merry Day To consecrate To Pompe & State, His Nobles all must feasted be At this his grand Solemnitie. And young Herodias wth her charming dance The entertainements value must inhance. The King is set, & set are all The Nobles in ye royall Hall. In comes ye Nymph & feeds their eyes With daintier Varieties Then those, wch were The Tables chear: Her amorous face Beauties owne Glasse, Her robes, ye most accomplishd dresse Of all illustrious Comelinesse: But when her gracefull Dance She measures, all Their Hearts trip after Her about the Hall. Filld with delight, like some mad Lover, In a wilde Oath ye King runs over; By Heavn, He cries, & as I'm King Ask Me, Herodias, any thing; Challenge of Me If it like Thee Halfe of this Throne I sit upon; Herod unworthy were to be A Prince, if unrewarded He Let goe thy Merit: say what must I give, In this deep debt thy soveraigne must not live. The Younger Witch runs to her Dame, And gives account how Shee did frame Her soft inchantments, wch did wring This usefull promise from ye King; All thanks, says Shee, Dear Child, to Me Thou dost restore What I before Gave Thee, ev'n Life; I now againe Shall live, & like a Queen shall reigne. Ask that bold Preachers Head, & I shall be From all his raylings & aspersions free. Back goes ye Dancer, & does pray A Dish of Meat might be her Pay, That she as well as all ye rest Might with her Mother goe & feast. Let Herod now Performe his vow, Cries She, & on His happy Throne For ever flourish; the Desire Of his poor Handmaid shall aspire No higher then ye wretched Head of John; This in a Dish I ask, & this or none. Herod starts at ye Word, & tries How He might put on Sorrows guise; Else it might seem a Plot between Him, & his deep inraged Queen How to betray The saint to Day. Alas, sayes He, Too late I see The rashnesse of my rampant vow, And must be wondrous wicked now That I may not be so: foule Crueltie Alone from Perjurie can rescue Me. All yee, my Lords, are Witnesse how Profound & solemne was my Vow: My Honour & my Honestie Deeply in it ingaged lie: O could but I With safetie, I would betray Both these to Day Rather then John: But now, alas, Inslaved to Herodias I'm not my selfe: then fetch his Head; but say 'Twas Rashnes & not Herod Him did slay. Yes glozing Tyrant, it is Thou, Who dost pretend, but breakst thy Vow: No more then halfe thy Kingdome was Ingage'd to spruce Herodias: Let Her have that, But let her not Incroach & call For more then all. Farr More then all is this, that Shee And angry Lust doe ask of Thee, More then thy totall Kingdome & thy Crowne, The Baptists Head is worth more then thine owne. Well, be it worth a World, it must Be yeilded to ye Dancers Lust; Who to her Mother dances in Bearing ye fruit of her bold sin. Look heer, she cries, I have ye prize, A Dish I bring You from ye King Wheron your eyes, your Heart, your Spight May feed with uncontrolld delight. Madame be free, loe ev'n ye Preacher now Your pleasure serves, & to your Will doth bow. Mock not, Herodias. Rescue'd John From both his Prisons now is gone Unto a Feast more Princely far Then Herod has provided heer; Thou hast made this Birthday prove His The Day, yt sends Saints to their ends Opes them a new Nativitie Unto a Life, that cannot die. John lives to day, nor dost Thou dance alone; In Paradise they dance, where John is gone. One Dance for Thee is still behind By which Revenge thy Crime will find: The Ice perfidious to Thee, But unto Justice true shall be, When it shall catch Thy neck, & snatch Its Head away, Which there shall play And dance a tragik Measure on That fatall Pavement: then shall John Wth greater glory view Thee from his Sphear, Then Herod at his Feast beheld Thee heere. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...COMPANIONSHIP by MALTBIE DAVENPORT BABCOCK FOR I WILL CONSIDER YOUR DOG MOLLY by DAVID LEHMAN RUSSIAN CATHEDRAL by CLAUDE MCKAY LITTLE WHITE CHURCH by MARILYN NELSON A STEEPLE ON THE HOUSE by ROBERT FROST MATE (1) by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON ANSWER TO PRAYER by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON THE TEN COMMANDMENTS by GEORGE SANTAYANA Γενεθλιακον by JOSEPH BEAUMONT Γενεθλιακον by JOSEPH BEAUMONT A CONCLUSORIE HUMNE TO THE SAME WEEK; & FOR MY FRIEND by JOSEPH BEAUMONT |
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