The Holy Ghost by John Donne
O Holy Ghost, whose temple IAm, but of mud walls and condensed dust,And being sacrilegiouslyHalf wasted with youth’s fires, of pride and lustMust with new storms be weather-beat;Double in my heart Thy
O Holy Ghost, whose temple IAm, but of mud walls and condensed dust,And being sacrilegiouslyHalf wasted with youth’s fires, of pride and lustMust with new storms be weather-beat;Double in my heart Thy
Salute the last and everlasting day, Joy at th’ uprising of this Sun, and Son, Ye whose true tears, or tribulation Have purely wash’d, or burnt your drossy clay. Behold, the Highest, parting hence
The last of my series of poems for the Easter Season. Pure fasted faces draw unto this feast:God comes all sweetness to your Lenten lips.You striped in secret with breath-taking
Another in a series of poems for the Easter Season. Death, be not proud, though some have called theeMighty and dreadful, for thou are not so;For those whom thou think’st
Another in a series of poems for the Easter Season. Most glorious Lord of life, that on this day,Didst make thy triumph over death and sin:And having harrow’d hell, didst
Another in a series of poems for the Easter Season. Make no mistake: if He rose at allit was as His body;if the cells’ dissolution did not reverse, the moleculesreknit,
Another in a series of poems for the Easter Season. Lord, who createdst man in wealth and store, Though foolishly he lost the same, Decaying more and more, Till he became Most poore: With thee O
I thought I would scatter some Easter poems throughout my blog for the rest of the 50 days of Easter.. Here is the first. The rest will appear, one a
From the church’s side door we follow the candleheld aloft in the uncertain spring evening this dead timebetween death and birth, treading the pavement to the openednarthex door, the procession
He is despised and rejected of men. Isaiah liii. 3. Is it not strange, the darkest hour That ever dawned on sinful earth Should touch the heart with softer power For comfort than
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