 | Poems, By J. D. [i.e. John Donne] |  |
30
4
Temple.
With his kinde mother who partakes thy woe,
Ioseph turne backe; see where your child doth sit,
Blowing, yea blowing out those sparks of wit,
Which himselfe on the Doctors did bestow;
The Word but lately could not speake, and loe
It sodenly speakes wonders, whence comes it,
That all which was, and all which should be writ,
A shallow seeming child, should deeply know?
His Godhead was not soule to his manhood,
Nor had time mellowed him to this ripenesse,
But as for one which hath a long taske, 'Tis good,
With the Sunne to beginne his businesse,
He in his ages morning thus began
By miracles exceeding power of man.
| Poems, By J. D. [i.e. John Donne] | |