For that faire blessed Mother-maid, Whose flesh redeem'd us; That she-Cherubin, Which unlock'd Paradise, and made One claime for innocence, and disseiz'd sinne, Whose wombe was a strange heav'n, for there God cloath'd himselfe, and grew, Our zealous thankes wee poure. As her deeds were Our helpes, so are her prayers; nor can she sue In vaine, who hath such titles unto you. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LINES FROM A PLUTOCRATIC POETASTER TO A DITCH-DIGGER by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS CAMPUS SONNET: MAY MORNING by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET AFTERGLOW by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON GHOSTS OF THE OLD YEAR by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON READING WHITMAN IN A TOILET STALL by TIMOTHY LIU |