@3DEigne at my hands this crown of prayer and praise,@1 Weav'd in my low devout melancholie, Thou which of good, hast, yea art treasury, All changing unchang'd Antient of dayes; But doe not, with a vile crowne of fraile bayes, Reward my muses white sincerity, But what thy thorny crowne gain'd, that give mee, A crowne of Glory, which doth flower alwayes; The ends crowne our workes, but thou crown'st our ends, For, at our end begins our endlesse rest; The first last end, now zealously possest, With a strong sober thirst, my soule attends. 'Tis time that heart and voice be lifted high, @3Salvation to all that will is nigh.@1 | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WHISTLE, AND I'LL COME TO YOU by ROBERT BURNS JOHN BURNS OF GETTYSBURG by FRANCIS BRET HARTE THE THREE FISHERS by CHARLES KINGSLEY THE WAY THROUGH THE WOODS by RUDYARD KIPLING THE MESSIAH by MABEL WARREN ARNOLD SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 43. ONE CHANCE by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) |