dots-menu
×

Edward Farr, ed. Select Poetry of the Reign of Queen Elizabeth. 1845.

An Act of Contrition

XXII. Sir John Beaumont

WHEN first my reason, dawning like the day,

Disperst the clouds of childish sense away;

God’s image fram’d in that superior tow’r,

Diuinely made mine vnderstanding pow’r

To thinke vpon his greatnesse, and to feare

His darts of thunder, which the mountaines teare.

And when with feeble light my soule began

T’ acknowledge him a higher thing then man,

My next discourse, erected by his grace,

Conceiues him free from bounds of time or place,

And sees the furthest that of him is knowne,

All spring from him, and He depends of none.

The steps which in his various workes are seal’d,

The doctrines in his sacred church reueal’d,

Were all receiu’d as truths into my mind,

Yet durst I breake his lawes—O strangely blind!

My festring wounds are past the launcing cure,

Which terrour giues to thoughts at first impure.

No helpe remaines these vlcers to remoue,

Vnlesse I scorch them with the flames of loue.

Lord, from thy wrath my soule appeales, and flyes

To gracious beames of those indulgent eyes,

Which brought me first from nothing, and sustaine

My life, lest it to nothing turne againe,

Which in thy Sonne’s blood washt my parents’ sinne,

And taught me waies eternall blisse to winne.

The starres which guide my bark with heauenly calls;

My boords in shipwrack after many falls;

In these I trust, and, wing’d with pleasing hope,

Attempt new flight to come to thee, my scope,

Whom I esteeme a thousand times more deare

Than worldly things which faire and sweet appeare.

Rebellious flesh, which thee so oft offends

Presents her teares: alas, a poore amends!

But thou acceptst them. Hence they precious grow

As liuing waters which from Eden flow.

With these I wish my vitall blood may runne,

Ere new eclipses dimme this glorious sunne;

And yeeld my selfe afflicting paines to take

For thee my spouse, and onely for thy sake.

Hell could not fright me with immortall fire,

Were it not arm’d with thy forsaking ire;

Nor should I looke for comfort and delight

In heau’n, if heau’n were shadow’d from thy sight.