Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
#southwell
O mother of the Saviour of the world,      Blesséd art thou, among all women blest, For God himselfe within thy womb was curl'd,      And God himselfe did suckle at thy brest; And he that dy'd and rose and quitt the tomb Blossom'd within thy house and there did bloom. The firstborn fruit of Gods inerrant seede,      Press'd like a bunch of grapes beneathe His wrath Untill the Man of Sorrowes sore did bleede      And suffer more than any martyr hath, Was offer'd vpp a sacrifice for mee By Father God and, Mother Mary, thee. Woman, behold thy Sonne, the glorifi'd,      Transfigur'd Kinge of Heauen; lion, lamb, Messiah, God and man who liu'd and died      And liues againe for aye, and is I AM; Like Abraham, the LORD did ask thy Sonne; Like Abraham, thou saidst, Thy will be done.
0
Apr 1, 2024
Apr 1, 2024 at 3:10 PM UTC
Our Ladye's Sacrifice
With coarsest sackecloth cloathe my naked soule;      Construct for me a throne of ashes blacke; Place on my lying lipps a liuing coal;      Cast me asea inside a sackcloth sacke; I am a rocke of great offence, a rocke As stonie-hearted as a stvmbling blocke. Not any man hath greater loue than this,      That hee should for his friend laye downe his life; But I betray'd my friend without a kisse      And stabb'd into his backe a butter knife; And hee who loues his life his life shall lose, And I, by loving life, my death did chuse.
0
Mar 26, 2024
Mar 26, 2024 at 12:24 PM UTC
The Lost Stanza of "Saint Peter's Complaint" by Robert Southwell