John Donne - Delphi Poets Series (14 page)

XI.

THE CONFESSORS.

   Therefore with Thee triumpheth there 
A virgin squadron of white confessors, 
   Whose bloods betroth’d not married were, 
Tender’d, not taken by those ravishers. 
    They know, and pray that we may know, 
    In every Christian 
Hourly tempestuous persecutions grow; 
Temptations martyr us alive; a man 
Is to himself a Diocletian. 

XII.

THE VIRGINS.

   The cold white snowy nunnery, 
Which, as Thy Mother, their high abbess, sent 
   Their bodies back again to Thee, 
As Thou hadst lent them, clean and innocent; 
    Though they have not obtain’d of Thee, 
    That or Thy Church or I 
Should keep, as they, our first integrity, 
Divorce Thou sin in us, or bid it die, 
And call chaste widowhead virginity. 

XIII.

THE DOCTORS.

   The sacred academy above 
Of Doctors, whose pains have unclasp’d, and taught 
   Both books of life to us — for love 
To know Thy scriptures tells us, we are wrote 
    In Thy other book — pray for us there, 
    That what they have misdone 
Or missaid, we to that may not adhere. 
Their zeal may be our sin.  Lord, let us run 
Mean ways, and call them stars, but not the sun. 

XIV.

   And whilst this universal quire, 
That Church in triumph, this in warfare here, 
   Warm’d with one all-partaking fire 
Of love, that none be lost, which cost Thee dear, 
    Prays ceaselessly, and Thou hearken too 
    — Since to be gracious 
Our task is treble, to pray, bear, and do —
Hear this prayer, Lord; O Lord, deliver us 
From trusting in those prayers, though pour’d out 
  thus. 

XV.

   From being anxious, or secure, 
Dead clods of sadness, or light squibs of mirth, 
   From thinking that great courts immure 
All, or no happiness, or that this earth 
    Is only for our prison framed, 
    Or that Thou’rt covetous 
To them whom Thou lovest, or that they are maim’d 
From reaching this world’s sweet who seek Thee 
  thus, 
With all their might, good Lord, deliver us. 

XVI.

   From needing danger, to be good, 
From owing Thee yesterday’s tears to-day, 
   From trusting so much to Thy blood 
That in that hope we wound our soul away, 
    From bribing Thee with alms, to excuse 
    Some sin more burdenous, 
From light affecting, in religion, news, 
From thinking us all soul, neglecting thus 
Our mutual duties, Lord, deliver us. 

XVII.

   From tempting Satan to tempt us, 
By our connivance, or slack company, 
   From measuring ill by vicious 
Neglecting to choke sin’s spawn, vanity, 
    From indiscreet humility, 
    Which might be scandalous 
And cast reproach on Christianity, 
From being spies, or to spies pervious, 
From thirst or scorn of fame, deliver us. 

XVIII.

   Deliver us through Thy descent 
Into the Virgin, whose womb was a place 
   Of middle kind; and Thou being sent 
To ungracious us, stay’dst at her full of grace; 
    And through Thy poor birth, where first Thou 
    Glorified’st poverty; 
And yet soon after riches didst allow, 
By accepting kings’ gifts in th’ Epiphany; 
Deliver us, and make us to both ways free. 

XIX.

   And through that bitter agony, 
Which is still th’ agony of pious wits, 
   Disputing what distorted Thee, 
And interrupted evenness with fits; 
    And through Thy free confession, 
    Though thereby they were then 
Made blind, so that Thou mightst from them have gone; 
Good Lord, deliver us, and teach us when 
We may not, and we may, blind unjust men. 

XX.

   Through Thy submitting all, to blows 
Thy face, Thy robes to spoil, Thy fame to scorn, 
   All ways, which rage, or justice knows, 
And by which Thou couldst show that Thou wast born; 
    And through Thy gallant humbleness 
    Which Thou in death didst show, 
Dying before Thy soul they could express; 
Deliver us from death, by dying so 
To this world, ere this world do bid us go. 

XXI.

   When senses, which Thy soldiers are, 
We arm against Thee, and they fight for sin; 
   When want, sent but to tame, doth war, 
And work despair a breach to enter in; 
    When plenty, God’s image, and seal, 
    Makes us idolatrous, 
And love it, not him, whom it should reveal; 
When we are moved to seem religious 
Only to vent wit; Lord, deliver us. 

XXII.

   In churches, when th’ infirmity 
Of him which speaks, diminishes the word; 
   When magistrates do misapply 
To us, as we judge, lay or ghostly sword; 
    When plague, which is Thine angel, reigns, 
    Or wars, Thy champions, sway; 
When heresy, Thy second deluge, gains; 
In th’ hour of death, th’ eve of last Judgment day; 
Deliver us from the sinister way. 

XXIII.

   Hear us, O hear us, Lord; to Thee 
A sinner is more music, when he prays, 
   Than spheres’ or angels’ praises be, 
In panegyric alleluias; 
    Hear us, for till Thou hear us, Lord, 
    We know not what to say; 
Thine ear to our sighs, tears, thoughts, gives voice and word; 
O Thou, who Satan heard’st in Job’s sick day, 
Hear Thyself now, for Thou in us dost pray. 

XXIV.

   That we may change to evenness 
This intermitting aguish piety; 
   That snatching cramps of wickedness 
And apoplexies of fast sin may die; 
    That music of Thy promises, 
    Not threats in thunder may 
Awaken us to our just offices; 
What in Thy book Thou dost, or creatures say, 
That we may hear, Lord, hear us when we pray. 

XXV.

   That our ears’ sickness we may cure, 
And rectify those labyrinths aright, 
   That we by heark’ning not procure 
Our praise, nor others’ dispraise so invite; 
    That we get not a slipp’riness 
    And senselessly decline, 
From hearing bold wits jest at kings’ excess, 
To admit the like of majesty divine; 
That we may lock our ears, Lord, open Thine. 

XXVI.

   That living law, the magistrate, 
Which to give us, and make us physic, doth 
   Our vices often aggravate; 
That preachers taxing sin, before her growth; 
    That Satan, and envenom’d men — 
    Which will, if we starve, dine — 
When they do most accuse us, may see then 
Us to amendment hear them, Thee decline; 
That we may open our ears, Lord, lock Thine. 

XXVII.

   That learning, Thine ambassador, 
From Thine allegiance we never tempt; 
   That beauty, paradise’s flower 
For physic made, from poison be exempt; 
    That wit — born apt high good to do — 
    By dwelling lazily 
On nature’s nothing be not nothing too; 
That our affections kill us not, nor die; 
Hear us, weak echoes, O, Thou Ear and Eye. 

XXVIII.

   Son of God, hear us, and since Thou 
By taking our blood, owest it us again, 
   Gain to Thyself, or us allow; 
And let not both us and Thyself be slain; 
    O Lamb of God, which took’st our sin, 
    Which could not stick to Thee, 
O let it not return to us again; 
But patient and physician being free, 
As sin is nothing, let it nowhere be.

UPON THE TRANSLATION OF THE PSALMS BY SIR  PHILIP SIDNEY, AND THE COUNTESS OF PEMBROKE, HIS SISTER.

ETERNAL God — for whom who ever dare
Seek new expressions, do the circle square,
And thrust into straight corners of poor wit
Thee, who art cornerless and infinite —
I would but bless Thy name, not name Thee now
 — And Thy gifts are as infinite as Thou —
Fix we our praises therefore on this one,
That, as thy blessed Spirit fell upon
These Psalms’ first author in a cloven tongue
 — For ‘twas a double power by which he sung
The highest matter in the noblest form —
So thou hast cleft that Spirit, to perform
That work again, and shed it here, upon
Two, by their bloods, and by Thy Spirit one;
A brother and a sister, made by Thee
The organ, where Thou art the harmony.
Two that make one John Baptist’s holy voice,
And who that Psalm, “Now let the Isles rejoice,”
Have both translated, and applied it too,
Both told us what, and taught us how to do.
They show us islanders our Joy, our King;
They tell us why, and teach us how to sing.
Make all this all three choirs, heaven, earth, and spheres;
The first, Heaven, hath a song, but no man hears;
The spheres have music, but they have no tongue,
Their harmony is rather danced than sung;
But our third choir, to which the first gives ear
 — For Angels learn by what the Church does here —
This choir hath all.   The organist is he
Who hath tuned God and man, the organ we;
The songs are these, which heaven’s high holy Muse
Whisper’d to David, David to the Jews;
And David’s successors in holy zeal,
In forms of joy and art do re-reveal
To us so sweetly and sincerely too,
That I must not rejoice as I would do,
When I behold that these Psalms are become
So well attired abroad, so ill at home,
So well in chambers, in Thy Church so ill,
As I can scarce call that reform’d until
This be reform’d; would a whole state present
A lesser gift than some one man hath sent?
And shall our Church unto our Spouse and King
More hoarse, more harsh than any other, sing?
For that we pray, we praise Thy name for this,
Which, by this Moses and this Miriam, is
Already done; and as those Psalms we call,
 — Though some have other authors — David’s all,
So though some have, some may some Psalms translate,
We Thy Sidneian psalms shall celebrate,
And, till we come th’ extemporal song to sing
 — Learn’d the first hour that we see the King,
Who hath translated those translators — may
These their sweet learned labours all the way
Be as our tuning, that when hence we part,
We may fall in with them, and sing our part!

ODE: VENGEANCE WILL SIT ABOVE OUR FAULTS

I.  VENGEANCE will sit above our faults; but till
       She there do sit,
    We see her not, nor them.   Thus blind, yet still
    We lead her way; and thus, whilst we do ill,
       We suffer it.
    
2.  Unhappy he whom youth makes not beware
       Of doing ill.
    Enough we labour under age, and care;
    In number, th’ errors of the last place are
       The greatest still.
    
3.  Yet we, that should the ill we now begin
       As soon repent,
    Strange thing!  perceive not; our faults are not seen,
    But past us; neither felt, but only in
       The punishment.
    
4.  But we know ourselves least; mere outward shows
       Our minds so store,
    That our souls no more than our eyes disclose
    But form and colour.  Only he who knows
       Himself, knows more.

TO MR. TILMAN AFTER HE HAD TAKEN ORDERS.

THOU, whose diviner soul hath caused thee now
To put thy hand unto the holy plough,
Making lay-scornings of the ministry
Not an impediment, but victory;
What bring’st thou home with thee? how is thy mind
Affected since the vintage?  Dost thou find
New thoughts and stirrings in thee? and, as steel
Touch’d with a loadstone, dost new motions feel?
Or, as a ship after much pain and care
For iron and cloth brings home rich Indian ware,
Hast thou thus traffick’d, but with far more gain
Of noble goods, and with less time and pain?
Thou art the same materials, as before,
Only the stamp is changèd, but no more.
And as new crowned kings alter the face,
But not the money’s substance, so hath grace
Changed only God’s old image by creation,
To Christ’s new stamp, at this thy coronation;
Or, as we paint angels with wings, because
They bear God’s message and proclaim His laws,
Since thou must do the like and so must move,
Art thou new feather’d with celestial love?
Dear, tell me where thy purchase lies, and show
What thy advantage is above, below.
But if thy gainings do surmount expression,
Why doth the foolish world scorn that profession,
Whose joys pass speech?  Why do they think unfit
That gentry should join families with it?
As if their day were only to be spent
In dressing, mistressing and compliment.
Alas! poor joys, but poorer men, whose trust
Seems richly placèd in sublimèd dust,
 — For such are clothes and beauty, which though gay,
Are, at the best, but of sublimèd clay —
Let then the world thy calling disrespect,
But go thou on, and pity their neglect.
What function is so noble, as to be
Ambassador to God, and destiny?
To open life? to give kingdoms to more
Than kings give dignities? to keep heaven’s door?
Mary’s prerogative was to bear Christ, so
‘Tis preachers’ to convey Him, for they do,
As angels out of clouds, from pulpits speak;
And bless the poor beneath, the lame, the weak.
If then th’ astronomers, whereas they spy
A new-found star, their optics magnify,
How brave are those, who with their engine can
Bring man to heaven, and heaven again to man?
These are thy titles and pre-eminences,
In whom must meet God’s graces, men’s offences;
And so the heavens which beget all things here,
And the earth, our mother, which these things doth bear;
Both these in thee, are in thy calling knit
And make thee now a blest hermaphrodite.

A HYMN TO CHRIST, AT THE AUTHOR’S LAST GOING INTO GERMANY.

IN what torn ship so ever I embark,
That ship shall be my emblem of Thy ark;
What sea soever swallow me, that flood
Shall be to me an emblem of Thy blood;
Though Thou with clouds of anger do disguise
Thy face, yet through that mask I know those eyes,
    Which, though they turn away sometimes,
   They never will despise.

I sacrifice this island unto Thee,
And all whom I love there, and who loved me;
When I have put our seas ‘twixt them and me,
Put thou Thy seas betwixt my sins and Thee.
As the tree’s sap doth seek the root below
In winter, in my winter now I go,
    Where none but Thee, the eternal root
   Of true love, I may know.

Nor Thou nor Thy religion dost control
The amorousness of an harmonious soul;
But Thou wouldst have that love Thyself; as Thou
Art jealous, Lord, so I am jealous now;
Thou lovest not, till from loving more Thou free
My soul; Who ever gives, takes liberty;
    Oh, if Thou carest not whom I love,
   Alas! Thou lovest not me.