MAY We have leave to ask, illustrious @3Mother@1, Why Thou dost Turtles bring For thy Sons Offring, And rather giv'st not one Lamb for another? It seems that golden showre wch 'tother Day The forward Faithfull East Pour'd at thy Feet, made haste Through some devout expence to find its way. O pretious Poverty, which canst appeare Richer to holy eyes Then any golden prize, And sweeter art then Frankincense & Myrrh! Come then, that Silver, which thy Turtles wear Upon their Wings, shall make Pretious thy gift, & speak That Son of thine, like them, all pure & fair. But know that Heavn will not be long in debt; No; the @3Eternal Dove@1 Downe from his Nest above Shall come, & on thy Sons dear Head shall sit. Heavn will not have Him ransom'd, heavns Law Numb. 18, 17. Makes no exception For Lambs, & such a one Is He: A fairer Lamb Heavn never saw. He must be Offerd, nor must Thou repine: Heavn hath a Title too, As neer & sure as Thou; And He is Gods Firstborne as well as Thine. He must be Offerd, or ye World is lost: The whole Worlds Ransome lies In this great Sacrifice; And He will pay its Debt, whate'r it cost. Nor shall these Turtles unrepayed be, These Turtles which to day Thy love for Him did pay: Thou ransom'dst Him, & He will ransome Thee. A deare & full Redemption will He give Thee & ye World: this Son, And none but this alone By His owne Death can make his Mother live. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OUR LEFT' by FRANCIS ORRERY TICKNOR FEAR AND LOVE by EGMONT HEGEL ARENS IN PRAISE OF A COUNTRY LIFE by PHILIP AYRES SOME SWEET DAY by LEWIS J. BATES BETWEEN SLEEP AND WAKING by MATHILDE BLIND SONNETS WRITTEN IN AN IRISH PRISON: HER NAME LIBERTY by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |