Classic Poem

Bvt now, begin the angrie Heau'ns to scoule,
And Phebus hides from thee his golden Head:
Now, Sathan toyles to tempt thy sacred Soule;
Now, sinkes thy Body downe, as it were dead;
Now, quakes the Earth, now rends the temples Vaile,
And now thy Senses doe themselues assaile.

Now, frownes thy Father, with a dreadfull looke;
Now, burnes his wrath, which fire thy Soule doth feare:
Now, gape the Graues of Saints, which now awooke
From out the sleepe of Death, wherein they were:
Now roares the Thunder in the gloomy skie,
Now Sathan yelles because his foile's so nie.

Orion , now, doth muster misty Cloudes,
Wherewith the foggie aire is dark'ned quight:
And now, thy Fathers face from thee he shrouds.
That whilome woont, on thee, to shine so bright:
All which compell thy Manhood thus to crie,
Ely, Ely Lammasabacthanie!

Now, downe thy holy Head begins to sinke;
And now the Hand of Death doth close thine Eies:
Thy Tongue, enflam'd with paine, now thirsts for drinke;
Which beeing reueal'd, that want, Spight straight supplies:
Who giues thee (ah!) (to plague thy Iaste withall,
In gall of bitternesse) the bitter'st Gall!

But (by the way) here note, my mournefull Muse,
The great! (ah tearmes I want aright t' expresse)
The monstrous malice of these cankred Iewes
Who not content his Corps with Paines t' oppresse,
Doe nerethelesse his Senses seeke to spill,
And grieue because his Soule they cannot kill!

O Sonnes of Sinne, can ye see Iustice-Sonne
(So like the Sonne of all Impietie)
Thus made a Chaos of Confusion,
With Angels so to range you orderly,
Yet liue disord'red? then (ah) what remaines
But lookt-for Worlds of all confused paines!

Say, for his glorie, he endures these Stormes
Without respect of your peculiar gaine:
Alas! what glorie can GOD haue of Wormes,
But such as he might lothe, sith vile, as vaine:
Then, sith he for yours (not his glory) dies
With shame, for shame die ye for his likewise.

Sith He that's Lord of Blisse, and all Renowne,
Diues to the Ground of Shame, and Sorrowes Seas,
To fetch vp Iemmes of Ioy, for Glories Crowne,
To place but on Mans Head, in Worlds of ease!
Then Man should to the Ground of deep'st annoy
Diue for like Iemmes, his Lord, alike, to ioy.

Had we but Selfe-Loue in the kindest kind,
This loue alone would force vs this to doe:
For, this Selfe-loue (not like the other, blind,
Seeing what Ioyes such Woes doe whaft vs to)
Makes vs, for our owne future endlesse ease,
Loue to be ducking still in Sorrowes Seas.

Christs bitter, and his latest draught thus drunke,
The Pangs of Death begin each limbe to Racke;
Now picks his Soule, the Lifes Locke of his Truncke;
For now his deere Heart-strings begin to cracke;
Father, quoth he, to thee I giue my Soule;
For now is finish'd both my Life, and doule

And for the vp-shoot, Longius , with a Speare,
Doth pierce his side, and cleeues his Heart in twaine:
From which, as from an hallowed Fountaine cleere
Both Blood, and Water gusheth forth amaine:
Drinke now an Health, my Soule; for, this is Wine,
Will all thy faculties, with grace, refine!

For, this is Christ , through whose sides (soules to saue)
All men are crucifi'd: with whose last Breath
All Men gaue vp the Ghost: within whose Graue
All buryed be: by whose arise from Death
All are reuiu'd: for, he, as we beleeue,
Did liue to die, that we might die to liue.

In Paradise from one selfe head did flow
Foure Streames, of Earth, to bathe each droughtie limbe:
From Christ (Faiths Paradise) Blood floweth so;
From whose Heart, through his Hands, and Feet doth swimme
(On floods of gore) the Arke of grace, wherein
Th' elect are sau'd from beeing wrackt through sinne

And from his side (beside) came welling forth
Both Blood and Water full of Misterie;
Blood to purge sinne, and Water of like worth,
To note new birth in Christian Infancie:
From all whose Bodies parts to parts, and whole,
Blood streamed forth to clense each Bodies Soule

The Blood of Beasts effuz'd in sacrifice
Were Typicall; yet pleas'd the angrie High'st:
But that did this (most pure) Blood symbolize;
Those Shadowes were dispell'd by Iesus Christ
True Iustice Sunne, in whom no shadow is,
Either of Change, or Sinne, or ought amisse

Here, perpendicularly hangs the Line
By which from out the Worlds Maze men do goe
Vnto a World more ample, more diuine
Without which all goe wrong to rightest woe;
Then goe by this, you that would not be lost;
For, hereby you goe right, how euer crost.

And if foule Sinnes, glu'd fast to flesh, and Blood
So closely cling that they will not away
Vnlesse vnloosed with a sanguine flood,
This working Deluge will not let them staie:
Noes flood confounded all, saue eight alone,
But this saues all that it hath ouerflowne!