Classic Poem

My mentall Eye, spying thy sparkling Fold
Bedeckt, my Lord, with Glories shine alone,
That doth out do all Broideries of Gold:
And Pavements of Rich Pearles, and Precious Stone
Did double back its Beams to light my Sphere
Making an inward Search, for what springs there.

And in my Search I finde myselfe defild:
Issues and Leprosies all ore mee streame.
Such have not Enterance. I am beguild:
My Seate, Bed, Saddle, Spittle too's uncleane.
My Issue Running Leprosy doth spread:
My upper Lip is Covered: not my Head.

Hence all ore ugly, Nature Poysond stands,
Lungs all Corrupted, Skin all botch't and scabd
A Feeble Voice, a Stinking Breath out fand
And with a Scurfy Skale I'me all ore clagd.
Robes rent: Head bare, Lips Coverd too, I cry,
Unclean, Unclean, and from thy Camp do fly.

Woe's mee. Undone! Undone! my Leprosy!
Without a Miracle there is no Cure.
Worse than the Elephantick Mange I spie
My Sickness is. And must I it endure?
Dy of my Leprosy? Lord, say to't nay,
I'le Cure thee in my wonder working way.

I see thy Gracious hand indeed hath caught
Two Curious pritty pure Birds, types most sure
Of thy two Natures, and The one is brought
To shed its blood in running waters pure
Held in an Earthen Panchin which displays
Thy Blood and Water preacht in Gospell dayes.

The slain Dove's buri'de: In whose Blood (in water)
The Living Turtle, Ceder, Scarlet twine,
And Hysop dipted are (as an allator)
Sprinkling the Leper with it Seven times
That typify Christs Blood by Grace applide
To Sinners vile, and then they're purifide.

Sprindge Lord mee With it. Wash me also in
The Poole of Shiloam, and shave mee bare
With Gospells Razer. Though the Roots of Sin
Bud up again, again shave off its hair.
Thy Eighth dayes Bath, and Razer make more gay,
Than th'Virgin Maries Purifying day.

My Tresspass, Sin, and my Burnt Sacrifices
My Flowre and Oyle, for my meate Offering
My Lord, thou art. Whether Lambs or Doves up rise
And with thy Holy Blood atonement bring,
And put thy Blood upon my Right Eare fair
Whose tip shall it, its Onely jewell, Ware.

And put it Gold-Ring-like on my Right Thumbe
And on my Right Greate toe as a Rich Gem.
Thy Blood will not Head, Hand nor Foot benum,
But satisfy and cleans all fault from them.
Then put thy Holy Oyle upon the place
Of th'Blood of my Right Eare, Thumb, Toe. Here's Grace.

Then Holiness shall Consecrate mine Eare.
And sanctify my Fingers Ends, and Toes.
And in my hearing, Working, Walking here
The Breath of Sanctifying Grace out goes.
Perfuming all these Actions, and my life.
Oh! Sweetest Sweet. Hence Holiness is rife.

Lord, Cleanse mee thus with thy Rich Bloods Sweet Shower
My Issue stop: destroy my Leprosy.
Thy Holy-Oyle upon my Head out poure
And cloathe my heart and Life with Sanctity.
My Head, my Hand and Foot shall strike thy praise,
If thus besprinkled, and Encamp thy Wayes.