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Our Lord in His Circumcision to His Father.
For what else is my life ? lo ! I bequeath.
Taste this, and as Thou lik’st this lesser flood,
This knife may be the spear's præludium.
houths = rose a On the Wounds of our crucified [ord. wounds I ALSO THESE wakeful wounds of Thine! eyes
the Are they mouths ? or are they eyes ?ru.swths
Be they mouths, or be they eyne,
Lo, a mouth! whose full-bloom'd lipse outh bees rose.
bec, Blad sliter Lo, a blood-shot
weeps And many a cruel tear discloses.
tears - genes (rubies)
O thou that on this foot hast laid
Many a kiss and many a tear,
Whatsoe'er thy charges were.
This foot hath got a mouth and lips,
pay the sweet sum of thy kisses ;
The difference only this appears,
Nor can the change offend,
Which thou in pearls didst lend.
On our crucified Lord, naked and bloody.
This garment, too, I would they had denied.
Thee with Thyself they have too richly clad,
O never could there garment be too good
From thy virgin-tomb:
Nature's new womb,
Of all the glories make noon gay
This is the morn ; This rock buds forth the fountain of the streams of day; In joy’s white annals lives this hour,
When life was born, No cloud-scowl on his radiant lids, no tempest-lower.
Life, by this light's nativity,
All creatures have;
Throned in thy grave,
On the bleeding Wounds of our crucified Lord.
From Thy head and from Thy feet,
From Thy hands and from Thy side, All Thy purple rivers meet.
What need Thy fair head bear a part
had none; What need they help to drown Thine heart,
That strives in torrents of its own ?
Thy restless feet now cannot go,
For us and our eternal good,
They swim, alas ! in their own flood ?
Thy hands to give, Thou canst not lift ;
Yet will Thy hand still giving be; It gives, but O, itself's the gift:
It gives though bound, though bound 'tis free.
But 0, Thy side; Thy deep digg'd side
That hath a double Nilus going, Nor ever was the Pharian tide
Half so fruitful, half so flowing.
Water'd by the showers they bring,
The thorns that Thy blest brows encloses, A cruel and a costly spring,
Conceive proud hopes of proving roses.*
No hair so small but
his river To this Red Sea of Thy blood, Their little channels can deliver
Something to the general flood.
But, while I speak, whither are run
All the rivers named before ?
But 0, that one is one all o'er.
Rain-swoll'n rivers may rise proud,
Bent all to drown and overflow; But when indeed all's overflow'd,
They themselves are drowned too.
This verse is not in the version of the Paris edition of 1652.
This Thy blood's deluge, a dire chance,
Dear Lord, to Thee, to us is found A deluge of deliverance,
A deluge lest we should be drown’d.
Ne'er wast Thou, in a sense so sadly true,
Samson to his Delilah.
RUEL, could not once blinding me suffice ?
When first I look'd on thee I lost mine eyes.
God vouchsafes to keep;
backs wear his livery.