Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, DIVINE POEMS: A DITHYRAMB, by JOHN HALL (1627-1656)


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DIVINE POEMS: A DITHYRAMB, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Still creeping, still degenerous soul
Last Line: And make hosannas of the former crucify!
Alternate Author Name(s): Hall Of Durham, John
Subject(s): Religion; Theology


STILL creeping, still degenerous soul,
On earth so wallowing still in mire?
Still to the centre dost thou roll,
When up to heaven thou should'st aspire?
Did not thy jailer flesh deny
The freedom for to feed thine own insatiate eye --
How might thou let it surfeit here
On choicest glories! How it might
Thick flowing globes of splendour bear,
And triumph in its native light!
How't would hereafter sleep disdain!
The glorious sun of righteousness uprise again;
O, who so stupid that would not
Resolve to atoms, for to play
'Mong th' golden streamers He shall shut,
While He prolongs one endless day!
How small three evenings' darkness be,
Compared once with measureless eternity!
See how the joyous clouds make way,
And put a ruddy brightness on,
How they their silken fleeces lay
For Him to mount to heaven upon,
Where He may in full glory shine,
Whose presence made, before, a heaven of Palestine.
That lovely brow, that was before
Drown'd in a flood of crimson sweat,
Is now with brightness gilded o'er,
And all with burnish'd flames beset!
Him, whom his drowsy sons did leave
Sleepless, aerial legions triumph to receive!
This innocent columbine, He
That was the mark of rage before,
O cannot now admired be,
But still admired, still needs more;
Who would not stand amaz'd to see
Frail flesh become the garment of divinity!
Appear no more, proud Olivet,
In tawny olives; from this time
Be all with purple vines beset;
The sprig of Jesse from thee did climb
Up to the skies, and spread those boughs
Whereon life's grapes, those Paradisean clusters, grows.
Why stare you, curious gazers, so?
No eye can reach His journey's end;
He'll pierce the rolling concave through,
And that expanded fabric rend;
Then He's at home: He was before
A pilgrim, while He footed this round nothing o'er.
If then His nimble feet could make
A pavement of the quivering stream,
And cause those powerful spirits quake
That fear not anything but Him;
Now can and will He turn to joys
Your fears, and or disarm or turn your enemies.
He is not lost, though wafted hence,
He's with you (darlings of His love!);
He's the supreme intelligence,
That all the little orbs will move;
He is the head: it cannot be
Members can perish, where there's such a head as He.
A head compos'd of majesty,
Were't not by mercy all possess'd,
From which such charming glances fly,
As striking vengeance can arrest,
From which such powerful frowns arise,
As can strike palsies in the earth, and headache in the skies.
What did you think, He could remain
Disguis'd in such an inch of land,
That convex cannot Him contain,
Though spun out by His own right hand?
What did you think, that though He lay
Interr'd awhile, the earth might swallow such a prey?
That very dying did restore
Banish'd life to rotting men;
And fetch'd back breath, that fled before,
Into their nostrils once again;
That very death gave life to all,
And t' all mankind recovery of their Father's fall.
Suppose ye that the fatal tree,
That happiest worst of punishments,
Did punish such a sinless He;
Or shame Him, that was excellence?
No, no, the crime doth ever state
The punishment, and He sin could not act, but hate.
Thought ye that stream did flow in vain,
That issued from His open'd side?
Your souls were foul, yet every stain
By these pure drops were purified;
He was, He, freely prodigal
To spend all's blood for some, when some might have sav'd all.
Hark! hark! what melody, what choice
Of sweetest airs, of charming sounds!
Heaven seems all turn'd into a voice!
Hear what loud shrieking joy rebounds!
The very winds now whistle joy,
And make Hosannas of the former Crucify!





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