THE
PROGRESSE
OF THE SOULE.
First Song.
I.
sing of the progresse of a deathlesse soule,
Whom Fate, which God made, but doth not controule,
Plac’d in most shapes; all times before the law
Yoak’d us, and when, and since, in this I sing.
And the great world to his aged evening;
From infant morne, through manly noone I draw.
What the gold Chaldee, or silver Persian saw,
Greeke brasse, or Roman iron, is in this one;
A worke t’outweare Seths pillars, bricke and stone,
And (holy writt excepted) made to yeeld to none.
II.
Thee, eye of heaven, this greate Soule envies not,
By thy male force, is all wee have, begot,
In the first East, thou now beginst to shine,
Suck’st early balme, and Iland spices there,
And wilt anon in thy loose-rein’d careere
At Tagus, Po, Sene, Thames, and Danow dine.
And see at night thy Westerne land of Myne,
Yet hast thou not more nations seene then shee,
That before thee, one day beganne to bee,
And thy fraile light being quench’d, shall long, long out live thee.
III.
Nor, holy Janus, in whose soveraigne boate
The Church, and all the Monarchies did floate:
That swimming Colledge, and free Hospitall
Of all mankinde, that cage and vivarie
Of fowles, and beastes, in whose wombe, Destinie
us, and our latest nephewes did install
(From thence are all deriv’d, that fills this All,)
Did’st thou in that great stewardship embarke
So diverse shapes into that floating parke,
As have beene moved, and inform’d by this heavenly sparke.
IV.
Great Destiny the Commissary of God,
That hast mark’d out a path and period
For every thing; who, where wee of-spring tooke,
Our wayes and ends seest at one instant; Thou
Knot of all causes, thou whose changelesse brow
Ne’r smiles nor frownes, O vouch thou safe to looke
And shew my story, in thy eternall booke:
That (if my prayer be fit) I may’understand
So much my selfe, as to know with what hand,
How scant, or liberall this my lifes race is spand.
V.
To my sixe lustres almost now outwore,
Except thy booke owe me so many more,
Except my legend be free from the letts
Of steepe ambition, sleepie povertie,
Spirit-quenching sicknesse, dull captivitie,
Distracting businesse, and from beauties nets,
And all that calls from this, and to others whets,
O let me not launch out, but let me save
Th’expense of braine and spirit; that my grave
His right and due, a whole unwasted man may have.
VI.
But if my dayes be long, and good enough,
In vaine this sea shall enlarge, or enrough
It selfe; for I will through the wave, and fome,
And shall, in sad lone wayes a lively spright,
Make my darke heavy Po
(John Donne)
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Based on Topics: Man Poems, God Poems, Night Poems, Sadness Poems, Heaven Poems, Christianity Poems, Gold Poems, Fate & Destiny Poems, Law & Regulation Poems, Ambition PoemsBased on Keywords: install, vouch, sicknesse, tagus, noone, stewardship, monarchies, westerne, controule, sixe, destinie