Classic Poem

Annus annulus ex Diminutione Largimur

If the year Serpent-like doth cast its skin
And's stript oth'owld, when as the new comes in
What would't inform, but that w'anew invest
Our selves in Christ, and Adams raggs detest
And if a Janus Bifronted doe stand
Looking at once to this and t'other hand
What would he teach our contiences, save this
To see at one view, whence salvation is
And whence our woe was; that for this we may
Our Tribute tears, for that all praises pay

Now when the Season blossoms in its Spring
And Time putts on a parti-coulerd winge
Why should not our soules which before did lie
Defil'd through th'smuch of Sin, receiv a die
(Wherat the rose may blush) from that same flood
(All streams surpasses) of our Saviours blood
For if that Leprosy we fain would heal
This is our lordan staind with Cuttcheneal
If from our first Sire we receivd a wound
This is the Spikenard that can make us sound

And as th'approaching Sun comes dayly on
For to supplant the Winters garison
Soe should our frozen Harts be thaughd, and melt
When we to mind call, what our Jesus felt
And we deservd; His Zodiak should bring
Us to the Troppick of our Sommering
In those warme thoughts. til ripe in faith and hope
Love like a Vale cover our Horescope
For what can we return for His: who rent
The Temples to free us from punnishment

O lett the Lustfull Clusters we behowld
Betassel Automn, and those ears of gould-
Resembling Corn, say to us if we thirst
Or hunger: He who is both Last and First
Did tread the winepress for us, and fulfill
What was to us due for our Fathers ill
That soe we might be numbred 'mongst those guests
The Lamb invited to his mariage feast
And though we once fell by what one Tree bore
God by an Others frute did us restore

Then whilst the Sharpe-breathd-winter seems to lay
Stripes on the patient earth, and blasts th'array
She late was deckt in, spitting on Her face
It's featherd rain (all embling the disgrace
For us he felt who would have known noe shame
Had we been innocent and without blame)
Doth't not discyfer how a Lilly pure
Sprang up midst thornes, their scourginges to endure
And how They spatt upon a face that shined
Which prov'd Our eye-salve who before were blinde.