This Crosse-Tree here Doth JESUS beare, Who sweet'ned first, The Death accurs't. Here all things ready are, make hast, make hast away; For, long this work wil be, & very short this Day. Why then, go on to act: Here's wonders to be done, Before the last least sand of Thy ninth houre be run; Or e're dark Clouds do dull, or dead the Mid-dayes Sun. Act when Thou wilt, Bloud will be spilt; Pure Balm, that shall Bring Health to All. Why then, Begin To powre first in Some Drops of Wine, In stead of Brine, To search the Wound, So long unsound: And, when that's done, Let Oyle, next, run, To cure the Sore Sinne made before. And O! Deare Christ, E'en as Thou di'st, Look down, and see Us weepe for Thee. And tho (Love knows) Thy dreadfull Woes Wee cannot ease; Yet doe Thou please, Who Mercie art, T'accept each Heart, That gladly would Helpe, if it could. Meane while, let mee, Beneath this Tree, This Honour have, To make my grave. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BEST [THING IN THE WORLD] by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING A BALLAD OF TREES AND THE MASTER by SIDNEY LANIER INSCRIPTIONS: 4 by MARK AKENSIDE ROSE D'AMOUR by MATHILDE BLIND SHEPHERD by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THE LAST OF HELEN by GORDON BOTTOMLEY |