Let mans Soule be a Spheare, and then, in this,
\nThe intelligence that moves, devotion is,
\nAnd as the other Spheares, by being growne
\nSubject to forraigne motion, lose their owne,
\nAnd being by others hurried every day,
\nScarce in a yeare their naturall forme obey:
\nPleasure or businesse, so, our Soules admit
\nFor their first mover, and are whirld by it.
\nHence is’t, that I am carryed towards the West
\nThis day, when my Soules forme bends toward the East.
\nThere I should see a Sunne, by rising set,
\nAnd by that setting endlesse day beget;
\nBut that Christ on this Crosse, did rise and fall,
\nSinne had eternally benighted all.
\nYet dare I’almost be glad, I do not see
\nThat spectacle of too much weight for mee.
\nWho sees Gods face, that is selfe life, must dye;
\nWhat a death were it then to see God dye?
\nIt made his owne Lieutenant Nature shrinke,
\nIt made his footstoole crack, and the Sunne winke.
\nCould I behold those hands which span the Poles,
\nAnd tune all spheares at once peirc’d with those holes?
\nCould I behold that endlesse height which is
\nZenith to us, and our Antipodes,
\nHumbled below us? or that blood which is
\nThe seat of all our Soules, if not of his,
\nMade durt of dust, or that flesh which was worne
\nBy God, for his apparell, rag’d, and torne?
\nIf on these things I durst not looke, durst I
\nUpon his miserable mother cast mine eye,
\nWho was Gods partner here, and furnish’d thus
\nHalfe of that Sacrifice, which ransom’d us?
\nThough these things, as I ride, be from mine eye,
\nThey’are present yet unto my memory,
\nFor that looks towards them; and thou look’st towards mee,
\nO Saviour, as thou hang’st upon the tree;
\nI turne my backe to thee, but to receive
\nCorrections, till thy mercies bid thee leave.
\nO thinke mee worth thine anger, punish mee,
\nBurne off my rusts, and my deformity,
\nRestore thine Image, so much, by thy grace,
\nThat thou may’st know mee, and I’ll turne my face.
\n— “Good Friday, 1613. Riding Westward” by John Donne<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Let mans Soule be a Spheare, and then, in this, The intelligence that moves, devotion is, And as the other Spheares, by being growne Subject to forraigne motion, lose their owne, And being by others hurried every day, Scarce in … Continue reading