Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, S. STEPHEN, by JOSEPH BEAUMONT


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

S. STEPHEN, by                    
First Line: Blind foolish jews, ye stones yee throw
Last Line: Yet he sole soveraigne is.
Subject(s): Christianity; Clergy; Saints; Priests; Rabbis; Ministers; Bishops


BLIND foolish Jews, 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 Arabian 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 Steven 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 Lord Jesu 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 Deacon gan to wait upon
The Soveraigne Priests triumphant Throne;
And by that Service, He
Began a King to be:

Jesus 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.





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