The poem I posted part of yesterday reminded me of one of John Donne’s Holy Sonnets. So I’ll put two of them here (spelling modernized because it takes me too long to spell badly).


Salvation to all that will is nigh.
That All, which always is All everywhere,
Which cannot sin, and yet all sins must bear,
Which cannot die, yet cannot choose but die,
Lo, faithful Virgin, yields himself to lie
In prison, in thy womb: and though he there
Can take no sin, nor thou give, yet he’will wear
Taken from thence, flesh, which death’s force may try.
Ere by the spheres time was created, thou
Wast in his mind, who is thy Son, and Brother;
Whom thou conceiv’st, conceived; yea thou art now
Thy Maker’s maker, and thy Father’s mother;
Thou’hast light in dark, and shutst in little roome,
Immensity cloistered in thy dear womb.

Immensity cloistered in thy dear womb
Now leaves his wellbelov’d imprisonment.
There he hath made himself to his intent
Weak enough, now into our world to come;
But oh, for thee, for him, hath th’Inn no room?
Yet lay him in this stall, and from the Orient,
Stars, and wisemen will travel to prevent
Th’effect of Herod’s jealous general doom.
Seest thou, my Soul, with thy faith’s eyes, how he
Which fills all place, yet none holds him, doth lie?
Was not his pity towards thee wondrous high,
That would have need to be pitied by thee?
Kiss him, and with him into Egypt go,
With his kind mother, who partakes thy woe.

(The cycle continues from that line into the presentation at the Temple.)