Classic Poem

A bran, a chaff, a very barley yawn,
An husk, a shell, a nothing, nay yet worse,
A thistle, briar prickle, pricking thorn,
A lump of lewdness, pouch of sin, a purse
Of naughtiness I am, yea what not, Lord?
And wilt thou be mine altar? And my board?

Mine heart's a park or chase of sins; mine head
'S a bowling alley. Sins play ninehole here.
Fancy's a green: sin, barley breaks in it led.
Judgement's a pingle: blind man's buff's played there.
Sin plays at coursey park within my mind:
My will's a walk in which it airs what's blind.

Sure then I lack atonement. Lord me help.
Thy shittim wood o'erlaid with wealthy brass
Was an atoning altar, and sweet smelt;
But if o'erlaid with pure pure gold it was,
It was an incense altar, all perfumed
With odours, wherein, Lord, thou thus was bloomed.

Did this e'erduring wood, when thus o'erspread
With these e'erlasting metals altarwise,
Type thy eternal plank of Godhead, wed
Unto our mortal chip, its sacrifice?
Thy deity mine altar, manhood thine,
Mine offering on't for all men's sins, and mine?

This golden altar puts such weight into
The sacrifices offered on 't, that it
O'erweighs the weight of all the sins that flow
In thine elect. This wedge and beetle split
The knotty logs of vengeance, too, to shivers;
And from their guilt and shame them clear delivers.

This holy altar by its heavenly fire
Refines our offerings: casts out their dross
And sanctifies their gold by its rich tire
And all their steams with holy odours boss.
Pillars of frankincense and rich perfume
They tone God's nostrils with, off from this loom.

Good news, good sirs, more good than comes within
The canopy of angels: heaven's hall
Allows no better. This atones for sin,
My glonous God, whose grace here thickest falls.
May I my barley yawn, bran, briar claw,
Lay on't, a sacrifice? Or chaff or straw?

Shall I my sin pouch lay on thy gold bench,
My offering, Lord, to thee? I've such alone,
But have no better; for my sins do drench
My very best unto their very bone.
And shall mine offering, by thine altar's fire
Refined and sanctified, to God aspire?

Amen, ev'n so be it. I now will climb
The stairs up to thine altar, and on 't lay
Myself, and services, even for its shnne.
My sacrifice brought thee accept, I pray.
My morn and evening offerings I'll bring,
And on this golden altar incense fling.

Lord, let thy deity mine altar be,
And make thy manhood on 't my sacrifice.
For mine atonement, make them both for me
My altar, to sanctify my gifts likewise,
That so myself and service on 't may bring
Its worth along with them to thee, my King.

The thoughts whereof do make my tunes as fume
From off this altar rise to thee, Most High,
And all their steams, stuffed with thy altar's blooms,
My sacrifice of praise in melody.
Let thy bright angels catch my tune, and sing 't.
That equals David's michtam, which is in 't.