"sufficeth" poems
I presse not to the Quire, nor dare I greet
The holy Place with my unhallow’d feet:
My unwasht Muse pollutes not things Divine,
Nor mingles her prophaner notes with thine;
Here, humbly at the Porch, she listning stayes,
And with glad eares ***** in thy Sacred Layes.
So, devout Penitents of old were wont,
Some without doore, and some beneath the Font,
To stand and heare the Churches Liturgies,
Yet not assist the solemne Exercise.
Sufficeth her, that she a Lay-place gaine,
To trim thy Vestments, or but beare thy traine:
Though nor in Tune, nor Wing, She reach thy Larke,
Her Lyricke feet may dance before the Arke.
Who knowes, but that Her wandring eyes, that run
Now hunting Glow-wormes, may adore the Sun.
A pure Flame may, shot by Almighty Power
Into my brest, the earthy flame devoure:
My Eyes, in Penitentiall dew may steepe
That bryne, which they for sensuall love did weepe:
So (though ‘gainst Natures course) fire may be quencht
With fire, and water be with water drencht.
Perhaps, my restlesse Soule, tyr’d with pursuit
Of mortall beautie, seeking without fruit
Contentment there; which hath not, when enjoy’d,
Quencht all her thirst, nor satisfi’d, though cloy’d;
Weary of her vaine search below, above
In the first Faire may find th’ immortall Love.
Prompted by thy Example then, no more
In moulds of Clay will I my God adore;
But teare those Idols from my Heart, and Write
What his blest Sp’rit, not fond Love, shall endite.
Then, I no more shall court the Verdant Bay,
But the dry leavelesse Trunk on Golgotha:
And rather strive to gaine from thence one Thorne,
Then all the flourishing Wreathes by Laureats worne.
2.3k
698
Life—is what we make of it—
Death—we do not know—
Christ’s acquaintance with Him
Justify Him—though—
He—would trust no stranger—
Other—could betray—
Just His own endorsement—
That—sufficeth Me—
All the other Distance
He hath traversed first—
No New Mile remaineth—
Far as Paradise—
His sure foot preceding—
Tender Pioneer—
Base must be the Coward
Dare not venture—now—
1.3k
The stranger entered through the gate
He walked down Crimson Street
He stopped, and all around him wait
He heard the ceasing feet
The stranger said, “All who are near
Gather, hear my cry
I have an elixir here
Drink, and never die”
The people looked at him and thought,
“This man must be lost”
Then one said, “Can it be bought?
How much does it cost?”
The stranger said “The price
Is lower than you’d think
The requirements are concise
Quite simply, drink”
The people said “This can’t be true!
Surely it is fake!
He cannot bring us immortality
If we simply partake”
“Hear me, please!” he cried aloud
The people stared in despise
He was swept up by the crowd
Violence met his eyes
The curtain of mercy we will today
Over this scene bring down
It sufficeth me to say
They chased him out of town
Outside the city gate he sobbed
And wrung his beaten hands
He was bruised, abused, robbed
So he went to a different land
Fifty years, few more had passed
Until he returned again
He hadn’t aged, this old outcast
Though he lacked a single friend
The people, old and weary now,
From fifty years and five,
Saw his face and shouted, “How!
“How is he still alive?”
“The elixir” he said, his voice soft
And trembling with pain
He thought of these people oft
Though they thought him insane
For their frail bodies he could not
Help but shed a tear
They refused before, and now they rot
And still death they fear
Their shaking voices he heard
And his heart did sink
“It’s so simple,” the man whispered,
“They only had to drink”
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 12:45 PM UTC