 | Divine poems
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Eleg. 6
Forgotten
Sion hangs her drooping head,
Vpon her fainting brest; Her soule is fed
With endlesse griefe, whose torments had depriv'd her
Long since, of life, had not new paines reviv'd her:
Sion is like a Garden, whose defence
Being broke, is left to the rude violence
Of wastefull Swine, full of neglected waste;
Nor having flowre for smell, nor herbe for taste;
Heaven takes no pleasure in her holy Feasts,
Her idle Sabbaths, or burnt fat of beasts;
Both State and Temple are despoil'd, and fleec't
Of all their beauty; without Prince, or Priest.
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