When first thou on me, Lord, wrought'st thy Sweet Print, My heart was made thy tinder box. My 'ffections were thy tinder in't: Where fell thy Sparkes by drops. These holy Sparks of Heavenly Fire that came Did ever catch and often out would flame. But now my heart is made thy Censor trim, Full of the golden Altars fire, To offer up Sweet Incense in Unto thyselfe intire: I finde my tinder scarce thy sparks can feel That drop out from thy Holy flint and Steel. Hence doubts out bud for feare thy fire in me 'S a mocking Ignis Fatuus, Or lest thine Altars fire out bee. It's hid in ashes thus. Yet when the bellows of thy Spirit blow Away mine ashes, then thy fire doth glow. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SATIRES OF CIRCUMSTANCE: 14. OVER THE COFFIN by THOMAS HARDY THE MARCH OF XERXES by LUIGI ALAMANNI FRIAR JEROME'S BEAUTIFUL BOOK; A.D. 1200 by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH ICED BRANCHES by KENNETH SLADE ALLING THE MASTER BLACKSMITH by ARNOLD ANDREWS |