Imagens da página
PDF
ePub

My cloths the mould which I must haue
To couer me most meete:

The waking cock, that early crowes
To weare the night awaye,

Puts in my minde the trumpe that blowes
Before the latter daye.

And as I ryse vp lustily,

When sluggish sleep is past,

So hope I to ryse ioyfully

To iudgment at the last.

Thus will I wake, thus will I sleepe,

Thus will I hope to ryse;

Thus will I neither waile nor weepe,
But sing in godly wyse.

My bones shall in this bed remaine,

My soule in God shall trust;
By whome I hope to ryse againe
From death and earthlie dust.

V.

BARNABY BARNES.

SONNET II.

SWEETE Saviour! from whose fivefold bleeding wound

That comfortable antidote distilde,

Which that ranck poyson hath expeld and kild, In our old wretched father Adam found In Paradise, when he desertlesse crown'd

Receav'd it as th' envenomde Serpent willde; Insteede of lustfull eyes with arrowes fillde Of sinful loves, which from their beames abound, Let those sweete blessed wounds with streams of grace

Aboundantly sollicite my poor spirite,

Ravishde with love of Thee, that didst debase Thyselfe on earth, that I might heaven inherite. O blessed sweet wounds! fountains of electre ! My wounded soul's balm, and salvation's nectre.

SONNET V.

BLESSED Creatour! let thine onely Sonne, Sweete blossome, stocke, and root of David's line, The cleare, bright morning-starre, give light and shine

On my poore spirit; which hath new begunne With his Love's praise, and with vain loves hath donne.

To my poor Muse let him his eares incline,
Thirsting to taste of that celestiall wine

Whose purple streame hath our salvation wonne. O gracious Bridegroome! and thrice-lovely Bride'

Which "Come and fill who will"-for ever crie ; "Water of life to no man is denyde; Fill still, who will,-if any man be drye."

O heavenly voice! I thirst, I thirst, and come For life, with other sinners to get some,

SONNET VII.

WHITE spotlesse Lambe! whose precious sweete bloudshed

The whole world's sinneful debt hath satisfied,

For sinners scorn'd, whippde, wounded, cruci

fied;

Beholde my sinfull soule by Sathan led
Even to the gates of hell, where will be read
My Conscience's blacke booke; unlesse supplide
Be to those leaves past number thy wounds
wide,

Whose purple issue, which for sinners bled,
Shall wash the register of my foul sin,
And thence blot out the vile memoriall :-
Then let thy blessed Angell enter in
My temple purged, and that historiall

Of my sinnes numberlesse in deepe seas cast;
So shall I be new borne and sav'd at last.

SONNET VIII.

LYON of Judah! which dost judge, and fight With endlesse justice; whose anointed head Was once with wounding thornes invironed, But now with sacred crownes, by glorious right; Whose glorious hoast succeedes in armour white;

Before whose face so many millions fled, And whose imperiall name no man could read; Illuminate my thoughts with the beames bright

Of that white, powrefull, and celestiall Dove: Kindle my spirit with that sacred heate

Which me may ravish with an heavenly love; Whilst I thy ceaselesse graces doe repeate,

Downe pourde in full aboundance to mankind, Which comfort in my soul, poore wretch! I find.

SONNET X.

HEAVENLY Messias! sweete anointed King! Whose glorie round about the world doth reach, Which everie beast, plant, rocke, and river teach,

And aerie birds like angels ever sing,

And everie gale of winde in gustes doth bring, And everie man with reason ever preach: Behold, behold, that lamentable breach Which, my distressed conscience to sting,

False, spitefull Sathan in my soule doth make. Oh, sweete Messias! lend some gracious oyle To cure that wound, even for thy mercies sake; Least, by that breach, thy temple he dispoyle. Helpe, helpe, my Conscience thither him doth leade:

And hee will come, if Thou bruise not his head.

SONNET XIII.

DEARE David's Sonne! whom thy forefathers have In psalmes and prophecies unborne foretolde,That hell in adamantine chaines should holde, And thence poore sinners both inlarge and save, Whom former blindness to damnation gave:

[ocr errors]

Mee swallowed in the gulfe of sinne behold; A lambe amongst wild wolves, once of thy fold, Whom Sathan now doth for his portion crave Deare Sonne of David! helpe: yet helpe with speede.

Thy wounds bleed fresh in my remembrance yet,
Which blessed wounds did for offenders bleede:
These wounds I will not in distresse forget;
For all cheefe hope of my salvation grounds
In nectre of these comfortable wounds.

SONNET XIV.

O BENIGNE Father! let my sutes ascend And please thy gracious eares, from my soule sent,

Even as those sweete perfumes of incense went From our forefathers' altars: who didst lend Thy nostrils to that mirrh which they did send, Even as I now crave thine eares to be lent. My soule, my soule, is wholy, wholy bent To do thee condigne service, and amend; To flie for refuge to thy wounded brest, To sucke the balme of my salvation thence; In sweete repose to take eternall rest, As thy child folded in thine armes' defence:But then my flesh, methought by Sathan firde, Said my proud sinfull soule in vain aspirde.

SONNET XXI.

SOLE hope and blessing of olde Israel's line! Which gave, by promise, to his blessed seede A land that should all blessings plentie breede, Rivers of pleasant honnie, milke, and wine; Whose offspring numberlesse Thou calledst thine;

« AnteriorContinuar »