Easter, by Edmund Spenser
Most glorious Lord of Lyfe! that, on this day,Didst make Thy triumph over death and sin;And, having harrowd hell, didst bring awayCaptivity thence captive, us to win:This joyous day, deare
Most glorious Lord of Lyfe! that, on this day,Didst make Thy triumph over death and sin;And, having harrowd hell, didst bring awayCaptivity thence captive, us to win:This joyous day, deare
1Done is a battell on the dragon blak,Our campioun Chryst confoundit hes his force,The yettis of hell ar brokin with a crak,The signe trivmphall rasit is of the croce.The diuillis
Death, be not proud, though some have called theeMighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;For those whom thou think’st thou dost overthrowDie not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou
Make no mistake: if he rose at allIt was as His body;If the cell’s dissolution did not reverse, the molecule reknit,The amino acids rekindle,The Church will fall. It was not
Am I a stone, and not a sheep,That I can stand, O Christ, beneath Thy cross,To number drop by drop Thy blood’s slow loss,And yet not weep? Not so those
Is this a holy thing to see, In a rich and fruitful land,Babes reducd to misery,Fed with cold and usurous hand? Is that trembling cry a song?Can it be a song
When fishes flew and forests walkedAnd figs grew upon thorn,Some moment when the moon was bloodThen surely I was born; With monstrous head and sickening cryAnd ears like errant wings,The
A cold coming we had of it,Just the worst time of the yearFor a journey, and such a long journey:The ways deep and the weather sharp,The very dead of winter.’And
If you want, the Virgin will come walking down the roadpregnant with the Holy and say,“I need shelter for the night.Please take me inside your heart, my time is so
There fared a mother driven forthOut of an inn to roam;In the place where she was homelessAll men are at home.The crazy stable close at hand,With shaking timber and shifting
