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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
S. ANDREW, by JOSEPH BEAUMONT First Line: Farre on his manly shoulders had the saint Last Line: The tyrant for his crosse he well repayes. Subject(s): Courage; Saints; Valor; Bravery | |||
FARRE on his Manly shoulders had the Saint Carry'd his Masters mightie Crosse: nor Thrace Nor spatious Scythia ever saw Him faint, But on He marched still, & march'd apace. The dark Barbarians wondered at ye Sight, And cast their conquerd Hearts all in his way Whilst in their Northern Superstitious Night They saw ye Rise of a Meridian Day: A Day, wch ought its East, not to ye Fast But to ye South, to priveleg'd Palestine: The Christian Day full Southern is, & drest With highnoon rayes, when first it ginns to shine. And now, said Heavn, though He would still goe on, Wee must relieve Him for Our Honours sake: Be then his LOAD his EASE; let Him upon The Crosse his Chaire of earned Triumph take. Nor shall Aegeus, though Proconsul He, Disdaine to help Him up upon His Throne: In proudest Rome ne'r did Aegeus see So fair a Triumph, nor so long a one. Nayld fast unto his Honour is ye Saint, Arrayd in Scarlet from his owne rich veines. Mistake not Pagans; tis no torturing Paint Nor is this Crosse a Throne of Soveraine Paines. Draw neer & hearken; does He there bewaile Himselfe, or you? Craves He your Lenitie, Or offers help to your lethargik Aile? Fast are You nayld to Danger, He is free. And to his freedome He invites you all. How sweet sit Heavn & JESUS on his Toung! Whilst from His Lips full Streames of Life doe fall, No words which to a dying Man belong. Oft had He preachd, but never climbd till now So fit a Pulpit, where ye World might see What sweet fruit on that bitter Tree can grow This Noble Pulpit preachd as well as He. Long was His Sermon, for his last it was. Two dayes it measur'd & yet seem'd but short. What are two poore & flitting dayes, alas To that which doth Eternity import? And am I nayld in vaine, Deare Lord, said He Unto this Pillar of renowned Death! Though not poore I, yet Thou deserv'st for Me That in this honour I may yeild my breath. Up flew these Words, & downe there flew as fast For His Sweet Convoy an illustrious Light: With which from this dark world ye Saint made haste And to his Lords Deare Bosome took his flight. Where for Aegeus with Requests more warme Then was his reeking Blood, he strongly prayes; And labouring that red Crie asleep to charme, The Tyrant for his Crosse He well repayes. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...UNLESS IT WAS COURAGE by MARVIN BELL THE QUALITY OF COURAGE by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET ON THE OREGON COAST; FOR WILLIAM STAFFORD by ROBERT BLY WORDS WITH WALLACE STEVENS by ROBERT BLY BUFFALO CLOUDS OVER THE MAESTRO HOON by NORMAN DUBIE A SONG OF COURAGE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE AUDACIOUS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON OH, THE WATER by DORIANNE LAUX Γενεθλιακον by JOSEPH BEAUMONT Γενεθλιακον by JOSEPH BEAUMONT A CONCLUSORIE HUMNE TO THE SAME WEEK; & FOR MY FRIEND by JOSEPH BEAUMONT |
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