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


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

S. THOMAS, by                    
First Line: I must not praise thee that thou tardy art
Last Line: My god, my lord, for ever will I crie.
Subject(s): Doubt; Jesus Christ; Resurrection, The; Saints; Skepticism


I MUST not praise Thee that Thou tardy art
In crediting thy Lords Miraculous Rise
Yet must I thank Thee, for my Heartned Heart
By this thy tardiness more nimbly flyes.

My faithlessnes prevented is by Thee,
And by thy Tongue, e'r I was borne, I said
I'l not believe He's Risen, till I see
Those Prints which by the Spear, & Nailes were made.

By thine, my Finger tryd each reverend Wound,
By which each Hand of Mercy broached was:
By thine, my hand express admission found
Where ye lesse cruell Spear before did passe.

With Thee, by those three Mouths of Goodnes I
Confuted was, & could not chuse but yeild.
He who could conquer Death, whilst He did dye,
Of Us might easily, living, win ye Feild.

By thine, my Tongue did clear Confession make,
Whilst further then my hand my Heart did prie,
And from my Lips thy Eccho still doth break
My God, my Lord, for ever will I crie.





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