Classic and Contemporary Poetry
S. PHILIP YE DEACON, by JOSEPH BEAUMONT First Line: Faith, thou art boundless; not one graine Last Line: He throws himselfe into ye fire againe. Subject(s): Clergy; Faith; Jesus Christ; Priests; Rabbis; Ministers; Bishops; Belief; Creed | ||||||||
FAITH, thou art boundless; not one Graine Of Thee, but doth more weight conteine Then vastest Mountains: Yet full well Thou In Mens narrow Hearts canst dwell, Which Mystick Cells ye lesse they be And humbler, allways yeild to Thee. The larger roome: Thou lov'st to come To such as these with all thy Noble Traine, And fixing there thy potent Throne doth reigne. And Thus of old in Philips breast Thou kept'st thy Court; so great a Guest We never knew herselfe bestow Under a roofe more poor & low. Yet with such glory didst Thou there On thy commanding Throne appeare, That thy strong hand None dares withstand But all Samaria doth acknowledge Thee Her best & gentlest Conquerour to be. Sturdy Diseases, wch could dare All Physiks Powers, modest are Before ye face of Philip, and Aw'd by his conquering Command; Rather then they with Men will fight Against themselves they'l turne their spight And by & by Grow sick & dy: And well ye Servant Sicknes may destroy, Whose Master lately Death itselfe did slay. But these were easy Cures: His Art Wrought cheifely on ye inmost Heart, By Teaching it a Life to live, Wch mortall Seed could never give: A Life wch might ye First-fruits be And Dawne of Immortalitie. He rubs ye rust From off ye Dust, And fairely prints Heavn in its Head; for where JESUS is stamp'd ye sweetest Heavn is there. No Thunders Rage so dreadfull is To our most timorous ears as this All-conquering Name appears to those Who are Mans everlasting Foes: They exercise ye utmost skill That could be forg'd & hatch'd in Hell To fortifie Themselves, & trie Whither their Immortall Legions cannot be As strong as one poore Mortall Enemie. They trie indeed; but trie in vaine, Still Philip Victor doth remaine; And As ye mighty Tempest throws The Sea before 't where e'r it goes; So doth his Potent Voices Blast Foameing & roaring Spirits cast Out from Mens breasts The Proper Nests Of a Mild Spirit: for there should onely dwell The Dove of Heavn, & not these Ravens of Hell. Black Simon startled much to see The Forces feild, & routed He Had sided with, swells wth Disdaine, And falls to rave & curse amaine: Now all yee Powers below, full well And justly are yee damnd to Hell, If yee whose Pride Did swell too wide For Heav'n, if yee, who feard not to oppose The great Eternall yeild to Mortall Foes. Blame not their God; the Place is due, And they succeed in right to you If they can beat you thus: Poor Fiends, Ev'n We your best & surest Friends Sham'd by your weaknes, shall no more The Deitie of Hell adore; No more shall We Spit Blasphemie Against ye God of Heavn at your Devotion, If Earth can intercept Hells strongest Motion. Look how Samaria laughs at Me Conquered by Philips Potencie: Look how great Belzebubs dread Name Shrinks into Nothing at ye fame Of upstart JESUS, whilst we straine And play ye Devills all in vaine. No furie could Have stoutlier stood For your accursed Cause, then I have done, Nor earn'd a gallanter Damnation. And must I now be foold, must I Stoop unto any Deitie But thine great Lucifer; & now In Spells & charmes I aged grow Be thus out-conjur'd by a new And not hard Name? the words, wch you Upon my Tongue Did print, were strong And dismall barbarous Sounds, but Philip by One sweet & easy Name doth them defie. Me thinks had I thy Hornes & Voice Dread Satan, by my Looks & Noise I could affright ye Stars, & throw The torne Heavns headlong downe below. Had I thy doubled-steeled Paws And thy long Adamantine Claws. Anew I'd tosse That Christ to's Crosse Where e'r he lurks, nor any Nailes would need To fix Him there, but what my fingers bred. For Shame renounce thy baffled Throne And let ye Airs Sweet Realme alone To Him yt rules in it; Goe dwell A Coward in ye holes of Hell: Thy conquerd Head & Shame goe hide In thy old Night, where by thy side Deaths & Despairs Thy Comforters Shall bid Thee welcome home, & make thee be Content with that sole Principalitie. Search there ye black Records, & send If thou canst find them, to thy Friend Some choice Receits, & charmes, wch yet Were never belched from thy Pit: Once more I'l trie for Hell & Thee; But if I faile, farewell for Mee Devills & Feinds, I'l get me Friends With Philip; blame not what you taught me, Pride; Though against Hell, I'l take ye nobler side. Thus vex'd, ye Wizard does his best Great Philips Power to resist; But finds him selfe too weak to fight With holy Faith's Mysterious Might, Which so amazeth him, yt he No longer dares its Enemie be: He yeilds, & cries I sacrifice My black & weak Profession to the Light, Which from ye Crosse doth break so strong & bright. Victorious Saint, thus at thy Feet Convinc'd & conquerd lies ye Great Champion of Darknes; Heare how He Beggs for his better Life of Thee. Grant Him his Prayer, & drench Him in The Fountaine purgative of sin; The Fount, wch will Quench all ye Hell That flam'd in Him; unlesse releas'd in vaine He throws Himselfe into ye Fire againe. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...UNHOLY SONNET 4 by MARK JARMAN QUIA ABSURDUM by ROBINSON JEFFERS GOING TO THE HORSE FLATS by ROBINSON JEFFERS SONNET TO FORTUNE by LUCY AIKEN JONATHAN EDWARDS IN WESTERN MASSACHUSETTS by ROBERT LOWELL RELIGIOUS INSTRUCTION by MINA LOY 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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