John Donne Holy Sonnets

A Collective Work

John Donne Holy Sonnets

1

Thou hast made me, and shall thy work decay?

Repair me now, for now mine end doth haste,

I run to death, and death meets me as fast,

And all my pleasures are like yesterday;

I dare not move my dim eyes any way,

Despair behind, and death before doth cast

Such terror, and my feeble flesh doth waste

By sin in it, which it t’wards hell doth weigh;

Only thou art above, and when towards thee

By thy leave I can look, I rise again;

But our old subtle foe so tempteth me,

That not one hour my self I can sustain;

Thy Grace may wing me to prevent his art,

And thou like Adamant draw mine iron heart.

5

I am a little world made cunningly

Of Elements, and an Angelic spright,

But black sin hath betrayed to endless night

My worlds both parts, and (oh) both parts must die.

You which beyond that heaven which was most high

Have found new spheares, and of new lands can write,

Pour new seas in mine eyes, that so I might

Drown my world with my weeping earnestly,

Or wash it if it must be drown’d no more;

But oh it must be burnt! alas the fire

Of lust and envy have burnt it heretofore,

And made it fouler; Let their flames retire,

And burn me o Lord, with a fiery zeal

Of thee and thy house, which doth in eating heal.

7

At the round earth’s imagined corners, blow

Your trumpets, Angels, and arise, arise

From death, you numberless infinities

Of souls, and to your scattered bodies go,

All whom the flood did, and fire shall o’erthrow,

All whom war, dearth, age, agues, tyrannies,

Despair, law, chance, hath slain, and you whose eyes,

Shall behold God, and never taste death’s woe.

But let them sleep, Lord, and me mourn a space,

For, if above all these, my sins abound,

‘Tis late to ask abundance of thy grace,

When we are there; here on this lowly ground,

Teach me how to repent; for that’s as good

As if thou hadst seal’d my pardon, with thy blood.

9

If poisonous minerals, and if that tree,

Whose fruit threw death on else-immortal us;

If lecherous goats, if serpents envious

Cannot be damn’d; Alas; why should I bee?

Why should intent or reason, borne in me,

Make sins, else equal, in me more heinous?

And mercy being eafy, and glorious

To God; in his stern wrath, why threatens he?

But who am I , that dare dispute with thee

O God? Oh! of thine only worthy blood,

And my tears, make a heavenly Lethean flood,

And drown in it my sin’s black memory;

That thou remember them, some claim as debt,

I think it mercy if thou wilt forget.

10

Death be not proud, though some have called thee

Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so,

For those whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow,

Die not, poor death, nor yet canst thou kill me.

From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,

Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,

And soonest our best men with thee do go,

Rest of their bones, and soul’s delivery.

Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,

And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,

And poppy, or charms can make us sleep as well,

And better than thy stroke; why swell’st thou then?

One short sleep past, we wake eternally,

And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.

11

Spit in my face you Jews, and pierce my side,

Buffet, and scoff, scourge, and crucify me,

For I have sinned, and sinned, and only he

Who could do no iniquity hath died:

But by my death can not be satisfied

My sins, which pass the Jews’ impiety:

They killed once an inglorious man, but I

Crucify him daily, being now glorified.

Oh let me, then, his strange love still admire:

Kings pardon, but he bore our punishment.

And Jacob came clothed in vile harsh attire

But to supplant, and with gainful intent:

God clothed himself in vile man’s flesh, that so

He might be weak enough to suffer woe.

13

What if this present were the world’s last night?

Mark in my heart, O soul, where thou dost dwell,

The picture of Christ crucified, and tell

Whether that countenance can thee affright,

Tears in his eyes quench the amazing light,

Blood fills his frowns, which from his pierced head fell.

And can that tongue adjudge thee unto hell,

Which prayed forgiveness for his foes’ fierce spite?

No, no; but as in my idolatry

I said to all my profane mistresses,

Beauty, of pity, foulness only is

A sign of rigor: so I say to thee,

To wicked spirits are horrid shapes assigned,

This beauteous form assures a piteous mind.

14

Batter my heart, three-person’d God; for you

As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend;

That I may rise, and stand, o’erthrow me and bend

Your force, to break, blow, burn and make me new.

I, like an usurpted town, to another due,

Labour to admit you, but Oh, to no end,

Reason your viceroy in me, me should defend,

But is captived, and proves weak or untrue.

Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain,

But am betroth’d unto your enemy:

Divorce me, untie, or break that knot again,

Take me to you, imprison me, for I

Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,

Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

17

Since she whom I loved hath paid her last debt

To Nature, and to hers, and my good is dead,

And her soul early into heaven ravished,

Wholly on heavenly things my mind is sett.

Here the admiring her my mind did whet

To seek thee God; so streams do show the head;

But though I have found thee, and thou my thirst hast fed,

A holy thirsty dropsy melts me yet.

But why should I beg more Love, when as thou

Dost woo my soul for hers; offering all thine:

And dost not only fear least I allow

My Love to Saints and Angels things divine,

But in thy tender jealousy dost doubt

Least in the World. flesh, yea devil put thee out.

18

Show me dear Christ, thy Spouse, so bright and clear.

What! is it She, which on the other shore

Goes richly painted? or which rob’d and tore

Laments and mourns in Germany and here?

Sleeps she a thousand, then peeps up one year?

Is she self truth and errs? now new, now outwore?

Doth she, and did she, and shall she evermore

On one, on seven, or on no hill appear?

Dwells she with us, or like adventuring knights

First travel we to seek and then make Love?

Betray kind husband thy spouse to our sights,

And let mine amorous soul court thy mild Dove,

Who is most true, and pleasing to thee, then

When she is embraced and open to most men.

19

Oh, to vex me, contraries meet in one:

Inconstancy unnaturally hath begot

A constant habit; that when I would not

I change in vows, and in devotion.

As humorous is my contrition

As my profane love, and as soon forgot:

As riddlingly distempered, cold and hot,

As praying, as mute; as infinite, as none.

I durst not view heaven yesterday; and today

In prayers and flattering speeches I court God:

Tomorrow I quake with true fear of his rod.

So my devout fits come and go away

Like a fantastic ague; save that here

Those are my best days, when I shake with fear.

Source:

Donne, John. Poems of John Donne. Vols 1 and 2 Edited by E.K. Chambers London: Lawrenece & Bullen, 1896.

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