A Divine Centvrie of Spirituall Sonnets [by Barnabe Barnes] |
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Sonnet. LXXXXIX.
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 | A Divine Centvrie of Spirituall Sonnets |  |
Sonnet. LXXXXIX.
[Oh whether shall my troubled Muse encline?]
Oh whether shall my troubled Muse encline?When not the glorious Scaffolde of the skies
Nor highest heauens resplendent hierarchies,
(Where heau'nly Soldiours in pure armor shine)
Nor ayer which thy sweete spirite doth refine,
Nor earth thy precious bloud vnworthy prise,
Nor Seas which when thou list ebbe and arise,
Nor any creature profane or Diuine,
Can blaze the flourish of thy tearmelesse praise:
Surreaching farre by manifold large space
All Diuine fabricke of thy sacred hands?
Euen thether shall my Muse her Musicke raise;
Where my soules euerlasting pallace stands,
Sweete refuge of saluation, Court of grace.
| A Divine Centvrie of Spirituall Sonnets | |