 | A Divine Centvrie of Spirituall Sonnets
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Sonnet. XLVII.
[Oh what celestiall Angell will downe send]
Oh
what celestiall Angell will downe send
Into these eyes some dewy cloudes of grace
To wash the furrowes of my withered face
Defilde with sinne? what spirite will mee lend
Sufficient winde, that my sighes might ascend
And (with contrition) pearce to that pallace,
From whence proceedes all succour and solace?
What Champion Michaell my soule to defend,
Will lend his puissant and victorious crosse,
To conquere that olde Serpent, which assayles
My feeble soule entombde in earthly drosse?
Thy precious crosse, that launce, those pearsing nayles,
If hee shall them, or their deare wounds espie,
Will bruise his head, and yeelde mee victorie.
| A Divine Centvrie of Spirituall Sonnets
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