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HIS PILGRIMAGE
Give me my scallop-shell of quiet,
My staff of faith to walk upon,
My scrip of joy, immortal diet,
My bottle of salvation,
My gown of glory, hope's true gage;
And thus I'll take my pilgrimage.
Blood must be my body's balmer;
No other balm will there be given;
Wilst my soul, like quiet palmer,
Travelleth towards the land of heaven;
Over the silver mountains,
Where spring the nectar fountains:
There I will kiss the bowels of bliss;
And drink mine everlasting fill
Upon every milken hill.
My soul will be a-dry before;
But, after, it will thirst no more,
Then by that happy blissful day,
More peaceful pilgrims I shall see,
They have cast off their rags of clay,
And walk apparelled fresh like me.
I'll take them first
To quench their thirst
And taste of nectar suckets,
At those clear well
Where sweetness dwells,
Drawn up by Saints in crystal buckets.
And when our bottles and all we
Are filled with immortality,
Then the blessed path we'll travel,
Strowed with rubies thick as gravel;
Ceilings of diamonds, saphire floors,
High walls of coral and pearly bowers,
From thence to heavens bribeless hall,
Where no corrupted voices brawl;
No conscience molten into gold,
No forged accuser bought or sold,
No cause deferred, no vain-spent journey,
For there Christ is the king's Attorney,
Who pleads for all without degrees,
For he hath angels, but no fees.
And when the grand twelve-million jury
Of our sins with direful fury,
Against our souls black verdict give,
Christ pleads his death, and then we live.
Be thou my speaker, taintless pleader,
Unblotted lawyer, true proceeder!
Thou givest salvation even for alms;
Not with a bribed lawyers palms.
And this is my plea.
To him that made the heaven, earth, and sea,
That since my flesh must die so soon,
And want a head to dine at noon,
Just at the stroke, when my veins start and spread,
Set on my soul an everlasting head!
Then I am ready, like a palmer fit,
To tread those blest paths which before I srit.
Of death and judgment, heaven and hell,
Who oft doth think, must needs die well
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Comments
Michael, I love it. Jim Landmark
To tread the blest paths which before I WRIT
sorry