University of Virginia Library

[2] The Passion

Who can reviewe, without a pretious losse
Of teares, the bitter sorowes of thy crosse
(Oh Dearest Lord)
Whose corps was gor'd,
In every member, by remorseles steele,
That wee (thy Members) might not Tophet feele—
Thy feet (Oh God)
Which never trod
In sinnefull pathes, with bloudy nayles were pierc'd;
Because wee in ungodly wayes were vers'd:
Thy hands most pure,
Were forc'd t'endure
The self same paines; because our hands have bin,
Vile instruments of wickednes, and sinne:
Thy temples blest
With thornes were prest:
Because wee have (upon our pillowes soft)
Mischievous stratagems imagin'd oft:
Thy heart most just,
And free from lust,
Was wounded too; because our hearts most evill,
Through pride, and lust, were censers for the Devill.
What I expresse,
Must needes be lesse
Then thy sharp paines, for the whole Continent,
Of thy chast corps, was into one wound rent:
Who can reflect,
With dry aspect,
Upon thy torments? Oh that I could weepe,
Till I did swimme in my repentance deepe,
Since for my guilt,
Thy bloud was spilt:
But I am whelm'd, in sorowes, and in feares,
Because I cannot drowne my sinnes in teares:
What shall I say?
I thus will pray.
As bloud, and water issu'd from thy wound,
So with thy bloud, doe Thou my teares compound./