By miracles exceeding power of man,

      Hee faith in some, envie in some begat,

For, what weake spirits admire, ambitious, hate;

      In both affections many to him ran.

But Oh! the worst are most, they will and can,

      Alas! and do, unto the immaculate,

Whose creature Fate is, now prescribe a Fate,

      Measuring selfe-lifes infinity to’a span,

Nay to an inch. Loe! where condemned hee

      Beares his owne crosse, with paine, yet by and by

When it beares him, he must beare more and die.

      Now Thou art lifted up, draw mee to thee,

And at thy death giving such liberall dole,

      Moyst[1] with one drop of thy blood, my dry soul.[2]

—John Donne

[1] moist

[2] John Donne, Holy Sonnets, V. “Crucifying.” The Complete Poetry and Selected Prose of John Donne, edited by Charles M. Coffin, The Modern Library, New York, 2001, p. 244.

The content of this post is from All Creation Sings by Luann Budd.