 | The Shorter Poems of Ralph Knevet |  |
385
[72] Sicknes
Sicknes is Balme of Gilead,It makes the dead to live,
Breakes Satans head.
It is a life contemplative,
The soules Memento sweet,
It settes all right,
And in safe pathes directs our feet:
It is a golden bitte,
For sinnes restraint:
It makes our soules cease to bee idle,
Although our bodyes faint:
It youth doth bridle,
And middle Ages makes to thinke,
Of their declineing state,
And how they sinke,
Toward the common House of fate:
It is a bitter pill,
Which renders life,
Although it doth the body kill:
It is Heavens pruneing knife,
Which by abscission,
Doth sinfull branches take away,
And mends the soules condition:
What shall I say?
Although it bee the bodyes griefe,
It is the soules reliefe./
| The Shorter Poems of Ralph Knevet | |