By
John Donne.
Thy sacred Academie above
Of
Doctors, whose paines have undasp'd, and taught
Both
bookes Of life
to us (for love
To know thy
Scriptures tells us, we are wrote
In thy other booke)
pray for us there
That what
they have misdone
Or mis-said, wee to that may not adhere;
Their zeale may be our siniie.
Lord let us runiie
Meane waies, and
call them stars, but not the
Sunnie.
And whil'st
this universall Quire,
That Church in
triumph, this in
warfare here,
Warm'd with one all-partaking
fire Of love, that none be
lost, which cost thee
deare,
Prayes ceaslesly,'and thou
hearken too,
(Since to be gratious
Our
taske is
treble, to pray, beare, and doe)
Heare this prayer Lord: O Lord deliver
us
From
trusting in those prayers, though powr'd out thus.
From being
anxious, or
secure,
Dead clods of sadnesse,
or light squibs of mirth,
From
thinking, that great courts immure
All, or no
happinesse, or that this earth
Is
only for our
prison fram'd,
Or that thou art
covetous
To them thou lovest, or that they are maim'd
From reaching
this worlds
sweet, who seek thee thus,
With all their might, Good
Lord
deliver us.
From
needing danger, to bee good,
From owing thee
yesterdayes teares to day,
From trusting
so much to thy blood,
That in that hope, wee wound our soule away,
From bribing thee with
Almes, to excuse
Some sinne more burdenous,
From
light affecting, in religion,
newes,
From thinking us all soule,
neglecting thus
Our
mutuall
duties Lord
deliver us.
From tempting
Satan to
tempt us,
By our connivance, or slack companies
From
measuring ill by vitious,
Neglecting to choake sins spawne, Vanitie,
From indiscreet humilitie,
Which
might be scandalous,
And cast
reproach on Christianitie,
From
being spies, or to spies pervious,
From thirst, or scorne of
fame,
deliver us.
XVIII
Deliver us for thy descent
Into the Virgin, whose
wombe was a place
Of middle
kind; and thou
being sent
To'ungratious us, staid'st at her full of grace;
And through thy
poore
birth, where first thou
Glorifiedst Povertie,
And yet
soone after riches didst allow,
By accepting Kings gifts in the Epiphanie,
Deliver, and make us, to
both waies free.
And
through that bitter agonie,
Which is still the agonie of
pious wits,
Disputing what
distorted thee,
And interrupted evennesse, with fits;
And through thy free confession
Though thereby they
were then
Made blind, so that thou might'st from them have gone,
Good Lord
deliver us, and teach us when
Wee may not, and we may
blinde unjust men.
Through thy submitting all, to
blowes
Thy
face, thy clothes to spoile; thy fame to scorne,
All waies, which
rage, or
justice knowes,
And by which thou could'st
shew, that thou wast
born;
And through thy
gallant
humblenesse
Which thou in death did'st shew,
Dying
before thy soule they could expresses
Deliver us from death, by dying
so,
To this world, ere this world doe bid us goe.
When senses, which thy souldiers are,
Wee arme against
thee, and they fight for
sinne,
When want, sent but to tame, doth
warre
And worke despaire a breach to enter in,
When plenty, Gods image, and seale
Makes us
Idolatrous,
And love it, not him, whom it should
reveale,
When wee are
mov'd to seeme
religious Only to
vent wit,
Lord deliver us.
In
Churches, when the'infirmitie
Of him which
speakes,
diminishes the
Word,
When
Magistrates doe mis-apply
To us, as we judge, lay or
ghostly sword,
When plague,
which is thine
Angell, raignes,
Or wars, thy
Champions,
swaie,
When Heresie, thy second deluge, gaines;
In th'houre of
death, th'Eve of last
judgement day,
Deliver us from the sinister way.
Heare us, O
heare us Lord; to thee
A
sinner is more musique, when he prayes,
Than spheares, or Angells
praises bee,
In Panegyrique Allelujaes;
Heare
us, for till thou heare us, Lord
We know not what to say;
Thine eare to'our
sighes,
teares, thoughts gives voice and word.
O Thou who Satan heard'st in jobs sicke day,
Heare thy selfe now,
for thou in us dost pray.
XXIV
That wee may change to
evennesse
This intermitting aguish Pietie;
That
snatching
cramps of wickednesse
And Apoplexies of fast sin, may die;
That musique of thy promises,
Not threats in
Thunder may
Awaken us to our just offices;
What in thy booke,
thou dost, or
creatures say,
That we may heare, Lord heare us, when wee
pray.
That our eares sicknesse wee may cure,
And rectifie those Labyrinths aright,
That wee, by
harkning, not procure
Our praise, nor others dispraise so invite,
That wee get not a slipperinesse,
And
senslesly decline,
From hearing bold wits jeast at Kings excesses
To'admit the like of majestie
divine,
That we may locke our eares,
Lord open thine.
That living law, the
Magistrate,
Which to give us, and make us physicke, doth
Our vices often aggravate,
That
Preachers taxing sinne, before her
growth,
That Satan, and invenom'd men
Which well, if we starve, dine,
When they doe most accuse us, may see
then
Us, to amendment, heare them; thee decline:
That we may
open our eares, Lord lock thine.
That
learning, thine Ambassador,
From thine allegeance wee never tempt,
That beauty, paradises flower
For physicke made, from
poyson be exempt,
That wit, borne apt high good to doe,
By dwelling lazily
Or Natures nothing, be not
nothing too,
That our affections kill us not, nor dye,
Heare
us, weake ecchoes, O thou eare, and cry.
Sonne of God heare us, and since thou
By taking our blood, owest it us
againe,
Gaine to thy
self, or us allow;
And let not both
us and thy selfe be slaine;
O Lambe of God, which
took'st our sinne
Which could not stick to thee,
O let it not return to us againe,
But
patient and
Pysician being free,
As sinne is
nothing, let it no where be.