Classic Poem

Never was union sene
So strict as that between
Christ and his members; though in heaven He be,
And we on earth, yet see
We cannot suffer here but strait He cryes
And feels our miseries,
As if they were His own:
aSo wel to Him th' are known,
That what e're persecutions we sustain,
He hath the greatest share and wil complaine,

Talk not what vertue lies
In secret sympathies,
As that between the loadstone and the steele
Which do at distance feele
Each other's force, and by an innate love
This unto that will move,
Or that betwixt the wound
And Talbot-powder found;
Or of that sensitive plant whose vertue's such,
That it contracts itself at every touch.

All these, though very rare,
Secrets in nature are;
But grace a stronger sympathy doth make
'Twixt Christ and us: we take
New life from Him as He took flesh from us.
We now are one; and thus
Our wounds are His, our smart
Grieves Him unto the heart;
Who touch us, touch the apple of His eye
A tender part, how can He chose but cry?

You then that persecute
And all your arrowes shoot
Against the truly Christian, know that you
One day shall deerly rue
And pay for this your spite, your arrowes all
On your own head shal fall;
You'l find it hard to kick
Against the sharpest prick;
And whiles you aime at man, you shoot far wide,
Hitting your God thorow your brother's side.

Why then my soul art thou
So sad, because that now
By wicked men thou persecuted art?
Thy Saviour bears a part,
And wil revenge thy cause against thy foes;
His hand thy wounds wil close,
As though His own they were,
No more their malice fear;
For let them do the worst to thee they can,
Since that thy fellow-suff'rer's God and man.