Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, WHITSUNDAY 1644, by JOSEPH BEAUMONT

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WHITSUNDAY 1644, by            
First Line: What though the fiends have chang'd their place
Last Line: Unlesse by thy sole potencie.
Subject(s): Prayer; Whitsun

WHAT though the Fiends have chang'd their Place,
Though Shamelesse Hell dare show its face
So big & black in our sad sphear
And stare
Upon the Sunne? though War
Its bloody Mouth doth ope
Threatning to swallow Hope
Almost ye onely Relict that
Is undevoured? Yet must we not
That little mighty stay
Seing This is Comforts Holy-Day.

When Truth went home, He left behind
The Word, which now so true we find;
The Comforter I'l send, sayd He;
And we
This Feast of Comfort see.
To Day the Comforter
Broke from his loftie Sphear
And brought his sweet Omnipotence
To conquer feares, & chase them hence.
And though
Dangers still swarme below,
They'r but to trie our Courage now.

The Comforter will not deny
Matter for Faith & victorie:
Nor could He be a Comforter
If heere
No Enemies did appeare.
Tis our advantage now
That Hee does Foes allow,
Who allwayes ready is at hand
To conquer what doe Us withstand.
Doe Yee
But dare to fight, says He,
And if you faile complaine of Mee.

How should We faile, Dear Lord, when thy
Allmighty Hand does Strength supply?
Had We but Faith in this Great Day
Would vanish quite away.
O win our Soules, & wear
The Spoiles Thou come'st for heere:
Help Us to fix our Trust in Thee,
So shall our greatest Conflicts be
An Art
To exercise each part,
But most of all to breathe our Heart.

So shall this happy Exercise
Be but a Trade of Victories;
And whilst one hand does fight, ye other
Shall gather
Balmes for his conquering Brother:
Which both of them shall bring
To Thee their mighty King:
And at thy Feet shall throw them downe,
Being not theirs, but all thine owne.
Poore Wee
Can never Victors be
Unlesse by thy Sole Potencie.

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