Classic Poem

The cruell Souldier, with his speare,
Did pierce our Saviours side,
Whence bloud did flow, with water cleare:
Oh what a blessed Fount was here:
Had this spring not bene spy'd,
Even the whole world had dy'd
This was a soveraigne cordiall,
Which did from death, to life recall.

His heart was wounded first by love,
For which caus'd him to descend
From his immortall Throne above,
Our humane Nature for to prove;
True love did him incende,
His precious bloud to spend:
But by his last wound wee were heal'd;
Th' assurance of our blisse it seal'd

A twofold Jordan did arise,
From these two springs to cure,
Our epidemicke leprosyes,
And every soules infirmityes:
For this same water pure,
Powr'd from an holy eure,
Doth cleanse a sinfull soule: but Bloud
The cure must finish, and conclude./