 | Divine poems
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Eleg. 10.
King, Priest, and People, all alike are clad
In weeds of Sack-cloth, taken from the sad
Wardrobe of sorrow, prostrate on the earth,
They close their lips, their lips estrang'd to mirth:
Silent they sit, for dearth of speech affords
A sharper Accent, for true griefe, than words:
The Father wants a Son, the Son a Mother;
The Bride, her Groom: the brother wāts a brother;
Some, Famine: Exile some: and some the sword
Hath slaine: All want, when Sion wants her Lord:
How art thou all in all! There's nothing scant
(Great God) with thee, without thee, all things want.
| Divine poems
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