Classic Poem

If sinne be captive, grace must finde release;
From curse of synne the innocente is free;
Tombe, prison is for sinners that decease,
No tombe, but throne to guiltles doth agree:
Though thralles of sinne lye lingring in their grave,
Yet faultles cors, with soule, rewarde must have.

The daseled eye doth dymmed light require,
And dying sightes repose in shrowdinge shades;
But eagles' eyes to brightest light aspire,
And living lookes delite in loftye glades:
Faynte winged foule by ground doth fayntly flye,
Our princely eagle mountes unto the skye.

Gemm to her worth, spouse to her love ascendes,
Prince to her throne, queene to her heavenly Kinge,
Whose court with solemne pompe on her attends,
And quires of saintes with greeting notes do singe;
Earth rendreth upp her undeserved praye,
Heaven claymes the right, and beares the prize awaye.