@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...ON LADY POLTAGRUE: A PUBLIC PERIL by HILAIRE BELLOC CONTRA MORTEM: THE CHILD by HAYDEN CARRUTH ALIENS (TO YOU - EVERYWHERE! DEDICATED) by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SHALL I SAY by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON WINTER SONG by KATHERINE MANSFIELD SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: SHACK DYE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |