 | The Poems of Thomas Pestell |  |
On ascension Day.
Today white Saincts & holy angells singTo that pure lambe, some new trivmphant thing
Wherat the whole frame of the world ascends
Each bird on wings acrosse his iourney bends
Vpright, & from the most exalted twist
His voice p[r]oclaims his ioys aboue consist
Earth swells to rise, & heav's hir issue faire
In swift perfumes to latch the mounting ayre
Rise then my soule. & every powre awake
Can walls of dust so strong resistance make?
Loe! thy Redeemer that braue Aegle flies
With cage & all, breaking the marble skies
His way to climbe was first to be deprest
Lay then his bloudie crosse vpon thy brest
Which will be such a loade as birds wings are
To beare thee where. his pleading wounds prepare
A crowne of glorie, made by conquest thine
Was his by nature: where he will refine
Thee & thy Case of Clay bright as his owne
When ioind in blisse you both ascend one throne.
| The Poems of Thomas Pestell | |