Poems Divine, and Humane By Thomas Beedome |
1. |
2. |
3. |
4. |
5. |
6. |
7. |
8. |
9. |
10. |
11. |
12. |
13. |
14. |
15. |
16. |
17. |
18. |
19. |
20. |
The Crosse.
|
Poems Divine, and Humane | ||
The Crosse.
1
There is no bud, but has a goodArt finds for basest-weedes an use:
Bodies distempered with grosse blood,
Find preservation from abuse.
For did not that inforce a breach,
Who'ld use incision, sweate, or leech?
2
Did not my sinne divine my fall,And by my weakenesse show my want:
Security would never call
To God, nor for his merry part.
For where there is no sence of evill,
The soule benumm'd admits the devill.
3
The heaviest Crosse had some renowne,And sharpest thornes this balsome had:
That though they were my Saviours Crowne,
They did produce a good from bad.
The cause most vile, th' effect most good,
That was my sinne, but this his blood.
4
Though bad my sinne, it saved my fall,My weakenesse too, my want did show:
These did awake me, made me call
And to my God for mercy goe.
Happy this Larum of my evill,
My soule awakt defie the devill.
5
Then happy Crosse and healing Thorne,Light burthen, and balsamicke flower:
Eased by that, by this untorne,
To blesse you both, whose good effects
Spur'd up my stupid sinnes neglects:
And making gaine from such a losse,
Unto a Crowne transferre a Crosse.
T. B.
Poems Divine, and Humane | ||