LET ye Brave Proud, & Mighty Men Passe on in state Unto some Gate Ample enough to let them in. My palace door was ever narrow: No Mountains may Crowd in that way, Nor at a Needles Eye get thorow. Heavn needeth no such helps as They: My Royall Seat Is high & great Enough wthout poore heaps of Clay. Without Hydropick Names of Pride, Without ye gay Deceits yt play About fond Kings on every side. Let all ye bunched Camells goe With this rich load To ye Broad Road. Heavn needs no Treasure from below: But rather little tender things, On whom to poure Its own vast store, And make of Wormes, celestiall Kings. Heavns little Gate is onely fit Deare Babes, for you, And I, you know, Am but a Lamb, though King of it. Come then, meek Brethren, hither come These armes you see At present, bee The Gate by which you must goe home. There will I meet with you againe, And mounted on My gentle Throne @3Soft King of Lambs@1 for ever reigne. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE JACQUERIE: SONG. THE HOUND by SIDNEY LANIER DEAD IN THE SIERRAS by CINCINNATUS HEINE MILLER DRIFTING by THOMAS BUCHANAN READ BITTERNESS by VICTORIA MARY SACKVILLE-WEST THE SHEPHEARDES CALENDER: MARCH by EDMUND SPENSER THE PROCLAMATION by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER |