Holy Sonnet 1: Donne

HOLY SONNET 1

by John Donne

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 towards 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 myself I can sustain.
Thy grace may wing me to prevent his art
And thou like adamant draw mine iron heart.

Holy Sonnet VI

Holy Sonnet VI

by John Donne

This is my play's last scene, here heavens appoint

My pligrimage's last mile; and my race

Idly, yet quickly run, hath this last pace,

My span's last inch, my minute's latest point,

And gluttonous death will instantly unjoint

My body and soul, and I shall sleep a space,

But my ever-waking part shall see that face,

Whose fear already shakes my every joint:

Then, as my soul to heaven, her first seat, takes flight,

And earth-born body in the earth shall dwell,

So, fall my sins, that all may have their right,

To where they're bred, and would press me, to hell.

Impute me righteous, thus purg'd of evil,

For thus I leave the world, the flesh, the devil.

Ascension Sunday

Ascension by John Donne

Salute the last and everlasting day, Joy at th' uprising of this Sun, and Son, Ye whose true tears, or tribulation Have purely wash'd, or burnt your drossy clay. Behold, the Highest, parting hence away, Lightens the dark clouds, which He treads upon ; Nor doth He by ascending show alone, But first He, and He first enters the way. O strong Ram, which hast batter'd heaven for me ! Mild Lamb, which with Thy Blood hast mark'd the path ! Bright Torch, which shinest, that I the way may see ! O, with Thy own Blood quench Thy own just wrath ; And if Thy Holy Spirit my Muse did raise, Deign at my hands this crown of prayer and praise.

Meditations for Ash Wednesday

Wilt Thou Forgive?

by: John Donne

Wilt Thou forgive that sin where I begun

Which is my sin though it were done before?

Wilt Thou forgive that sin through which I run

And do run still, though still I do deplore?

When Thou hast done, Thou hast not done

For I have more.

Wilt Thou forgive that sin by which I won

Others to sin and made my sin their door?

Wilt Thou forgive that sin which I did shun

A year or two, but wallow'd in a score?

When Thou hast done, Thou hast not done

For I have more.

I have a sin of fear that when I've spun

My last thread, I shall perish on the shore.

Swear by Thyself that at my death Thy Son

Shall shine as He shines now and heretofore.

And having done that, Thou hast done.

I fear no more.

His Parting From Her: Donne

Elegy XIII: On His Parting From Her

by John Donne SINCE she must go, and I must mourn, come night,  Environ me with darkness, whilst I write; Shadow that hell unto me, which alone I am to suffer when my love is gone. Alas! the darkest magic cannot do it, Thou and great hell, to boot, are shadows to it. Should Cynthia quit thee, Venus, and each star, It would not form one thought dark as mine are. I could lend them obscureness now, and say Out of my self, there should be no more day. Such is already my self-want of sight, Did not the fire within me force a light. O Love, that fire and darkness should be mix'd, Or to thy triumphs such strange torments fix'd! Is it because thou thyself art blind, that we, Thy martyrs, must no more each other see? Or takest thou pride to break us on the wheel, And view old Chaos in the pains we feel? Or have we left undone some mutual rite, That thus with parting thou seek'st us to spite? No, no.  The fault is mine, impute it to me, Or rather to conspiring destiny, Which, since I loved in jest before, decreed That I should suffer, when I loved indeed; And therefore, sooner now than I can say, I saw the golden fruit, 'tis rapt away; Or as I'd watch'd one drop in the vast stream, And I left wealthy only in a dream. Yet, Love, thou'rt blinder than myself in this, To vex my dove-like friend for my amiss; And where one sad truth may expiate Thy wrath, to make her fortune run my fate. So blinded justice doth, when favourites fall, Strike them, their house, their friends, their favourites all. Was't not enough that thou didst dart thy fires Into our bloods, inflaming our desires, And madest us sigh, and blow, and pant, and burn, And then thyself into our flames didst turn? Was't not enough that thou didst hazard us To paths in love so dark and dangerous, And those so ambush'd round with household spies, And over all thy husband's towering eyes, Inflamed with th' ugly sweat of jealousy; Yet went we not still on in constancy? Have we for this kept guards, like spy on spy? Had correspondence whilst the foe stood by? Stolen, more to sweeten them, our many blisses Of meetings, conference, embracements, kisses? Shadow'd with negligence our best respects? Varied our language through all dialects

 Of becks, winks, looks, and often under boards 
Spoke dialogues with our feet far from our words? 
Have we proved all the secrets of our art, 
Yea, thy pale inwards, and thy panting heart? 
And, after all this passed purgatory, 
Must sad divorce make us the vulgar story? 
First let our eyes be riveted quite through 
Our turning brain, and both our lips grow to; 
Let our arms clasp like ivy, and our fear 
Freeze us together, that we may stick here, 
Till Fortune, that would ruin us with the deed, 
Strain his eyes open, and yet make them bleed. 
For Love it cannot be, whom hitherto 
I have accused, should such a mischief do. 
O Fortune, thou'rt not worth my least exclaim, 
And plague enough thou hast in thy own name. 
Do thy great worst ; my friend and I have charms, 
Though not against thy strokes, against thy harms. 
Rend us in sunder ; thou canst not divide 
Our bodies so, but that our souls are tied, 
And we can love by letters still and gifts, 
And thoughts and dreams ; love never wanteth shifts. 
I will not look upon the quickening sun, 
But straight her beauty to my sense shall run; 
The air shall note her soft, the fire, most pure; 
Waters suggest her clear, and the earth sure. 
Time shall not lose our passages; the spring, 
How fresh our love was in the beginning; 
The summer, how it ripen'd in the year; 
And autumn, what our golden harvests were; 
The winter I'll not think on to spite thee, 
But count it a lost season; so shall she. 
And dearest friend, since we must part, drown night 
With hope of day—burdens well borne are light—; 
The cold and darkness longer hang somewhere, 
Yet Phoebus equally lights all the sphere; 
And what we cannot in like portion pay 
The world enjoys in mass, and so we may. 
Be then ever yourself, and let no woe 
Win on your health, your youth, your beauty; so 
Declare yourself base Fortune's enemy, 
No less be your contempt than her inconstancy; 
That I may grow enamour'd on your mind, 
When mine own thoughts I here neglected find. 
And this to the comfort of my dear I vow, 
My deeds shall still be what my deeds are now; 
The poles shall move to teach me ere I start; 
And when I change my love, I'll change my heart. 
Nay, if I wax but cold in my desire, 
Think, heaven hath motion lost, and the world, fire. 
Much more I could, but many words have made 
That oft suspected which men most persuade. 
Take therefore all in this; I love so true, 
As I will never look for less in you. 

Annunciation - Donne

Annunciation

by John Donne

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 concievst, conceived; yea, thou art now

Thy Maker's maker, and thy Father's mother;

Thou hast light in dark, and shutst in little room

Immensity cloistered in thy dear womb.

The Triple Fool

The Triple Fool

by John Donne

I am two fools, I know,
For loving, and for saying so
In whining poetry;
But where's that wise man, that would not be I,
If she would not deny?
Then as th' earth's inward narrow crooked lanes
Do purge sea-water's fretful salt away,
I thought, if I could draw my pains
Through rhyme's vexation, I should them allay.
Grief brought to numbers cannot be so fierce,
For he tames it, that fetters it in verse.

But when I have done so,
Some man, his art and voice to show,
Doth set and sing my pain,
And by delighting many, frees again
Grief, which verse did restrain.
To love and grief tribute of verse belongs,
But not of such as pleases when 'tis read;
Both are increased by such songs;
For both their triumphs so are published,
And I, which was two fools, do so grow three;
Who are a little wise, the best fools be.

Donne's Holy Sonnet IV

Holy Sonnet IV

by John Donne

Oh my black soul! now thou art summoned
By sickness, death's herald and champion;
Thou art like a pilgrim, which abroad hath done
Treason, and durst not turn to whence he is fled,
Or like a thief, which till death's doom be read,
Wisheth himself delivered from prison;
But damn'd and hal'd to execution,
Wisheth that still he might be imprisoned.
Yet grace, if thou repent, thou canst not lack;
But who shall give thee that grace to begin?
Oh make thyself with holy mourning black,
And red with blushing, as thou art with sin;
Or wash thee in Christ's blood, which hath this might -
That being red, it dyes red souls to white.

Not Done With Donne

I know I am supposed to be focusing on a variety of poets this year - and I've done some of that (Kenyon, Teasdale, Millay...is that it??) - but I simply can not stay away from Donne.  Every time I read him, it's as if I am reading with new eyes and I discover another gem...or two...or three...which I had read before, but hadn't really heard.  I can only hope that at least one of you falls in love with and is profoundly moved by his work. 

Holy Sonnet III

by John Donne

O might those sighs and tears return again

Into my breast and eyes, which I have spent,

That I might in this holy discontent

Mourn with some fruit, as I have mourned in vain;

In mine idolatry what showers of rain

Mine eyes did waste? what griefs my heart did rent?

That sufferance was my sin, now I repent;

'Cause I did suffer I must suffer pain.

Th' hydroptic drunkard, and night-scouting thief,

The itchy lecher, and self-tickling proud

Have the remembrance of past joys for relief

Of coming ills.  To poor me is allow'd

No ease; for long yet vehement grief hath been

Th' effect and cause, the punishment and sin.

Donne's Holy Sonnet VII

Today I am giving thanks for two of my life's great joys: exceptional poetry and music.  Thanks be to God for gifting men and women in these areas, and for their response to His call to use those gifts to bring joy to others!

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. 

Musical Monday: Connor Burrows

One of my favorite Donne poems, "Hymn to God the Father" set to music and performed by boy's choir phenom, Connor Burrows.

Wilt thou forgive that sin, where I begun,
which is my sin, though it were done before?
Wilt thou forgive those sins through which I run,
and do run still, though still I do deplore?
When thou has done, thou has not done, for I have more.

Wilt thou forgive that sin, by which I won
others to sin, and made my sin their door?
Wilt thou forgive that sin which I did shun
a year or two, but wallowed in a score?
When thou has done, thou hast not done, for I have more.

I have a sin of fear that when Ive spun
my last thread, I shall perish on the shore;
Swear by thyself, that at my death thy Son
shall shine as he shines now, and heretofore.
And having done, that thou hast done, I fear no more.
-John Donne (1573-1631)

Hymn to God: Donne

Hymn to God, My God, in My Sickness

by John Donne

Since I am coming to that Holy room,

Where, with Thy choir of saints for evermore,

I shall be made Thy music; as I come

I tune the instrument here at the door,

And what I must do then, think here before;

Whilst my physicians by their love are grown

Cosmographers, and I their map, who lie

Flat on this bed, that by them may be shown

That this is my south-west discovery,

Per fretum febris, by these straits to die;

I joy, that in these straits I see my west;

For, though those currents yield return to none,

What shall my west hurt me? As west and east

In all flat maps—and I am one—are one,

So death doth touch the resurrection.

We think that Paradise and Calvary -

Christ's cross and Adam's tree - stood in one place;

Look, Lord, and find both Adams met in me;

As the first Adam's sweat surrounds my face,

May the last Adam's blood my soul embrace.

So, in His purple wrapp'd, receive me, Lord;

By these His thorns, give me His other crown;

And as to others' souls I preach'd Thy word,

Be this my text, my sermon to mine own,

"Therefore that He may raise, the Lord throws down."

I Did Hereby Highly Resolve...

I'm sure all of you remember that a year ago I made a whopping 3 resolutions at the beginning of 2009: one for my aging body, one for my aging mind and one for my heart. You may also remember how conflicted I am about the whole concept...if not, feel free to go back and remind yourself...or just read this summary:

Pride and shame are the primary motivating factors necessary for New Year's Resolutions to carry any weight, right? If you don't announce them, there's only YOU to hold yourself accountable...and how scary is that? Not scary enough. But if you DO announce...once you put yourself out there, you gotta follow through or everyone will know how lame you are. On the other hand, if you put it out there and over-achieve, you risk alienating everyone because they feel intimidated by your resolve to better yourself. The trick is to find that happy medium. I think I did, and I know you've been dying to know how it came out for me.  Right???

My resolution for my aging body (which I politely kept to myself...OK, I don't do anything to "be polite"...I didn't reveal it because I really didn't think I could keep it!), was to re-establish the existence of my clavicle. I actually succeeded at this one.  I began walking in March and...wah-la!! The clavicle has been unearthed. Check one off for me in the success column.

The resolution I made regarding my heart (which details shall still remain obscure)...well, that was a failure of epic proportions. And the weight of that utter failure makes the success of the first resolution fairly meaningless. Ooh...downer, huh? But at least if you were feeling badly about yourself, you can now feel better. 1 complete success. 1 complete failure.

Then...there's that commitment I actually detailed for you. The one where I intended to stimulate my aging mind by memorizing something new every month...poems, Bible verses, hymns, etc. I didn't exactly meet this one. I came close enough to be satisfied with my progress, but fell short of perfection, thus leaving you with a sense of my commonality, thereby allowing us to remain friends, no? I memorized - and retained (my children quizzed me yesterday!) - 11 out of the 12 months.

If you care, here's a recounting of what this old brain added to its hard drive this year. This was a FUN resolution and the fact that I had publicized it definitely made a difference in my efforts to keep it!

JANUARY: Lord Byron

They look'd up to the sky whose floating glow

Spread like a rosy ocean, vast and bright;

They gazed at the glittering sea below,

Whence the broad moon rose circling into sight;

They heard the waves splash, and the wind so low,

And saw each other's dark eyes darting light

Into each other - and beholding this,

Their lips drew near, and clung into a kiss;

A long, long kiss, a kiss of youth, and love,

And beauty, all concentrating like rays

Into one focus, kindled from above;

Such kisses as belong to early days,

Where heart, and soul, and sense, in concert move,

And the blood's lava, and the pulse a blaze,

Each kiss a heart-quake, - for a kiss's strength,

I think, must be reckon'd by its length.

FEBRUARY: By Peter M. Bayne

Christ has come, the Light of the World.

Long ages may yet elapse before his beams have reduced the world to order and beauty, and clothed a purified humanity with light as with a garment.

But he has come:

The Revealer of the snares and chasms that lurk in darkness

The Rebuker of every evil thing that prowls by night

The Stiller of the storm-winds of passion

The Quickener of all that is wholesome

The Adorner of all that is beautiful

The Reconciler of contradictions

The Harmonizer of discord

The Healer of diseases

The Savior from sin

He has come!

The Torch of truth

The Anchor of hope

The Pillar of faith

The Rock for strength

The Refuge for security

The Fountain for refreshment

The Vine for gladness

The Rose for beauty

The Lamb for tenderness

The Friend for counsel

The Brother for love

Jesus Christ has trod this world. The trace of the Divine footsteps will never be obliterated. And those Divine footsteps were the footsteps of a Man! The example of Christ is such as men can follow.

On! until mankind wears his image!

On! toward yon summit on which stands,

not an angel,

not a disembodied spirit,

not an abstract of ideal and unattainable virtue,

But The Man, Jesus Christ.

MARCH: Shakespeare's The Merchant of Venice

The quality of mercy is not strain'd

It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven

On the place beneath. It is twice blest.

It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.

T'is mightiest in the mightiest. It becomes

The throned monarch better than his crown.

His scepter shows the force of temporal power,

The attribute to awe and majesty

Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings.

But mercy is above this sceptered sway.

It is enthroned in the hearts of kings. It is

An attribute to God himself. And earthly power

Doth then show likest God's

When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, O man,

Though justice be thy plea, consider this:

That in the course of justice, none of us

Should see salvation. We do pray for mercy.

And that same prayer doth teach us all

To render the deeds of mercy.

APRIL: Psalm 130

Out of the depths have I cried unto thee, O Yahweh.

Lord, hear my voice!

Let thine ears be attentive to the voice of my supplication.

If thou, Yahweh, shouldst mark iniquity,

Lord, who could stand?

But there is forgiveness with thee

That thou mayest be feared.

I wait for Yahweh. My soul doth wait,

And in his Word do I hope.

My soul waits for Yahweh more than the watchmen for the morning;

Yes, more than the watchmen for the morning.

O Israel, trust in Yahweh!

For with Yahweh there is lovingkindness

And with him is plenteous redemption.

And he will redeem Israel from all his iniquities.

MAY: Donne's Holy Sonnet # 6

This is my play's last scene, here heavens appoint

My pligrimage's last mile; and my race

Idly, yet quickly run, hath this last pace,

My span's last inch, my minute's latest point,

And gluttonous death will instantly unjoint

My body and soul, and I shall sleep a space,

But my ever-waking part shall see that face,

Whose fear already shakes my every joint:

Then, as my soul to heaven, her first seat, takes flight,

And earth-born body in the earth shall dwell,

So, fall my sins, that all may have their right,

To where they're bred, and would press me, to hell.

Impute me righteous, thus purg'd of evil,

For thus I leave the world, the flesh, the devil.

JUNE: Browning's Sonn Frm the Portugeuse # 38

First time he kissed me, he but only kissed

The fingers of this hand wherewith I write;

And ever since, it grew more clean and white,

Slow to world-greetings, quick with its "Oh, list"

When angels speak. A ring of amethyst

I could not wear here,plainer to my sight,

Than that first kiss. The second passed in height

The first, and sought the forehead, and half-missed

Half falling on the hair. O beyond meed!

That was the chrism of love, which love's own crown

With sanctifying sweetness did precede.

The third upon my lips was folded down

In perfect purple state. Since when, indeed,

I have been proud and said, "My love, my own."

JULY: Psalm 46

A Psalm of the Sons of Korah

God is our refuge and strength,

A very present help in trouble.

Therefore we will not fear

Though the earth gives way

Though the mountains be moved into the heart of the sea;

Though its waters roar and foam

Though the mountains tremble at their swelling.

There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God

The holy habitation of the Most High;

God is in the midst of her; she shall not be moved!

God will help her when morning dawns.

The nations rage, the kingdoms totter;

He utters his voice, the earth melts.

Yahweh of Hosts is with us.

The God of Jacob is our refuge.

Come behold the works of Yahweh

How he brought desolations on the earth!

He makes wars to cease to the ends of the earth He breaks the bow and shatters the spear; He burns the chariots with fire.

Be still and know that I am God.

I will be exalted among the nations.

I will be exalted in the earth.

Yahweh of Hosts is with us.

The God of Jacob is our refuge.

AUGUST: Donne's Holy Sonnet # 14

Batter my heart, three-personed 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 usurped 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 betrothed 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.

SEPTEMBER: Donne's Hymn to God the Father

Wilt thou forgive that sin where I begun,

Which is my sin, though it were done before?

Wilt thou forgive that sin through which I run,

And do run still: though still I do deplore?

When thou hast done, thou hast not done,

For I have more.

Wilt thou forgive that sin by which I have won

Others to sin? and made my sin their door?

Wilt thou forgive that sin which I did shun

A year or two; but wallowed in a score?

When thou hast done, thou hast not done,

For I have more.

I have a sin of fear, that when I have spun

My last thread, I shall perish on the shore;

Swear by thyself that at my death, thy Son

Shall shine as he shines now and heretofore;

And, having done that, thou hast done,

I fear no more.

OCTOBER:  epic fail month! 

NOVEMBER:  From Helen Keller's Autobiography

Sometimes, it is true, a sense of isolation enfolds me like a cold mist as I sit alone and wait at life's shut gate.  Behond there is light and music and sweet comapnionship, but I may not enter.  Fate, silent, pitiless, bars the way.  Fain would I question his imperious decree for my heart is still undisciplined and passionate.  But my tongue will not utter the bitter and futile words which rise to my lips, and they fall back into my heart like unshed tears.  Silence sits immense upon my soul.  Then comes hope with a smile and whispers, "There is joy in self-forgetfulness!"  So, I try to make the light in other's eyes my sun, the music in other's ears my symphony, the smile on other's lips my happiness.

DECEMBER:  Edna St. Vincent Millay

Time does not bring relief; you all have lied

Who told me time would ease me of my pain!

Imiss him in the weeping of the rain;

I want him at the shrinking of the tide;

The old snows melt from every mountainside

And last year's leaves are smoke in every lane;

But last year's bitter loving must remain

Heaped upon my heart, and my old thoughts abide.

There are a hundred places where I fear

To go - so with his memory they brim.

And entering with relief some quiet place

Where never fell his foot or shone his face

I say, "There is no memory of him here!"

And so stand stricken, so remembering him.