La Corona
Deign at my hands this crown of prayer and praise, Weav’d in my low devout melancholy, Thou which good, hast, yea art treasury, All changing unchang’d Ancient of days; But do not, with a vile crown of frail bayes, Reward my muses with sincerity, But what thy thorny crown gain’d, that give me, A crown of Glory, which doth flower always; The ends crown our works, but thou crown’st our ends, For, at our end begins our endless rest; The first last end, now zealously possessed, With a strong sober thirst, my soul attends. ‘Tis time that heart and voice be lifted high, Salvation to all that will is nigh. Annunciation Salvation to all that will is nigh; That All, which always is All every where, Which cannot sin, and yet all sins must bear, Which cannot die, yet cannot choose but die, Lo, faithful Virgin, yields himself to lie In prison, in thy womb; and though he there Can take no sin, not thou five, yet he’will wear Taken from thence, flesh, which deaths force may try. Ere by the spheres time was created, thou Wast in his mind, who is thy Son, and Brother; Whom thou conceiv’st, conceiv’d; yea thou art now Thy Makers maker, and thy Fathers mother; Thou’hast light in dark; and shutst in little room, Immensity cloistered in thy dear womb. Nativitie Immensity cloistered in thy dear womb, Now leaves his well belov’d imprisonment, There he hath made himself to his intent Weak enough, now into our world to come; But Oh, for thee, for him, hath th’ Inn no room? Yet lay him in this stall, and from the Orient, Stars, and wisemen will travel to prevent Th’effect of Herods jealous general doom. Seest thou, my Soule, with thy faiths eyes, how he Which fills all place, yet none holds him, doth lie? Was not his pity towards thee wondrous high, That would have need to be pitied by thee? Kiss him, and with him into Egypt go, With his kind mother, who partakes thy woe. Temple With his kind mother who partakes thy woe, Joseph turn back; see where your child doth sit, Blowing, yea blowing out those sparks of wit, Which himself on the Doctors did bestow; The Word but lately could not speak, and lo It suddenly speaks wonders, whence comes it, That all which was, and all which should be writ, A shallow seeming child, should deeply know? His Godhead was not soul to his manhood, Nor had time mellowed him to this ripeness, But as for one which hath a long task, ‘tis good, With the Sun to begin his business, He in his ages morning thus began By miracles exceeding power of man. Crucifying By miracles exceeding power of man, He faith in some, envy in some begat, For, what weak spirits admire, ambitious, hate; In both affections many to him ran, But Oh! the worst are most, they will and can, Alas, and do, unto the immaculate, Whose creature Fate is, now prescribe a Fate, Measuring self-lifes infinity to a span, Nay to an inch. Lo, where condemned he Bears his own cross, with pain, yet by and by When it bears him, he must bear more and die. Now thou art lifted up, draw me to thee, And at thy death giving such liberal dole, Moist, with one drop of thy blood, my dry soul. Resurrection Moist with one drop of thy blood, my dry soul Shall (though she not be in extreme degree Too stony hard, and yet too fleshly,) be Freed by that drop, from being starv’d, hard, or foul, And life, by this death abled, shall control Death, whom thy death slew; nor shall to me Fear of first or last death, bring misery, If in thy little brook my name thou enroll, Flesh in that long sleep is not putrified, But made that there, of which, and for which ‘twas; Nor can by other means be glorified. May then sins sleep, and deaths soon from me pass, That wak’t from both, I again risen may Salute the last, and everlasting day. Ascension Salute the last and everlasting day, Joy at the uprising of this Sun, and Son, Ye whose just tears, or tribulation Have purely washed, or burnt your drossie clay; Behold the Highest, parting hence away, Lightens the dark clouds, which he treads upon, Nor doth he by ascending, show alone, But first he, and he first enters the way. O strong Ram, which hast batter’d heaven for me, Mild Lamb, which with thy blood, hast mark’d the path; Bright Torch, which shin’st, that I the way may see, Oh, with thy own blood quench thy own just wrath, And if thy holy Spirit, my Muse did raise, Deign at my hands this crown of prayer and praise.
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"Knowing that the journey of faith will not be easy, they do not become discouraged when difficulties come. Knowing an adversary will oppose their efforts, they are not surprised or unprepared when the enemy attacks. As they set out on their way, they expect the early going to be difficult, but they know that the end of the journey will be great.
It is not without merit that those who pursue authentic faith in this manner are called pilgrims and strangers. A pilgrim is one who is on a journey. When the journey transcends his normal borders, he becomes a stranger. He is like a businessman who is sent into a new territory with the task of executing his job with diligence and tenacity and then returns home as soon as possible. Whatever pleasures he enjoys along the way, he enjoys with moderation. He is thankful when the weather is pleasant but is not diverted from his task when storms come. He is a traveler. He expects the unexpected. But as he travels, he knows he traveling to 'a better country' (Heb. 11:16). He can observe the practices of this strange land and associate with its inhabitants. He even attempts to speak their language and where appropriate adopt their fashions, but he makes sure that he is not sidetracked or delayed along the way from accomplishing what his master has sent him to accomplish. He has business to which he must attend. He knows there will be temptations and distractions. He knows the enemy wants to delay and derail his advancement. This means that he must maintain his focus and direction. To make sure he is on the right track, he needs periodically to stop and take stock. Is he traveling in the right direction? Has he become distracted? Often he has the sense that he is making good progress. At other times he feels as if he is getting nowhere. All the passions of life are experienced along the way. ...This is no dreary duty! This is challenge and excitement. This is the ultimate adventure. This is what life was meant to be." "What is good in only a matter of opinion in secular society. Using society's own standards of goodness, careful observation of the bigger picture of the bigger picture may reveal that a particular good has been outweighed by general evil. When a society defines its own morality and then applies it to itself, that society can justify its own serious breaches of character. It is able to lower the standard to the detriment of all.
Even in the best of cases, the fundamental problem still exists that the motivation for life is still man-centered instead of God-centered. Goodness is no substitute for devotion. In its culturally defined forms, goodness can exist where love of God and passion for His glory do not." "Life is war. The casualties are millions, and the stakes are eternal. What we need today is not a call to simplicity, but a call to war. We need to think in terms of 'wartime lifestyle' rather than a 'simply lifestyle.' I have used the phrase 'necessities of life' because Paul said in 1 Timothy 6:8, 'If we have food and covering, with these we shall be content.' But this idea of simply necessity can be misleading. I mean it to refer to a style of life that is unencumbered with nonessentials - and the criterion for 'essential' should not be primitive simplicity, but wartime effectiveness... Life is war. All talk of a Christian's right to live luxuriously 'as a child of the King' is this atmosphere sounds hollow - especially since the King Himself stripped for battle."
"Jesus did not ask us to be indifferent to whether we are destroyed. On the contrary, He assumes that the longing for true life will move us to deny ourselves all the lesser pleasures and comforts of life. The measure of our longing for life is the amount of comfort we are willing to give up to get it." "So maybe what I said before, about listening to too many records messes up your life... maybe there's something in it after all... It seems to me that if you place music (and books, probably, and films, and plays, and anything that makes you feel) at the centre of your being, then you can't afford to sort out your love life, start to think of it as the finished product. You've got to pick at it, keep it alive and in turmoil, you've got to pick at it and unravel it until it all comes apart and you're compelled to start all over again. Maybe we all live life at too high a pitch, those of us who absorb emotional things all day, and as a consequence we can never feel merely content: we have to be unhappy, or ecstatically, head-over-heels happy, and those states are difficult to achieve within a stable, solid relationship."
- Nick Hornby "Ford was very kind - he gave the barman another five-pound note and told him to keep the change. The barman looked at it and then looked at Ford. He suddenly shivered: he experienced a momentary sensation that he didn't understand because no one on Earth had ever experienced before. In moments of great stress, every life form that exists gives out a tiny subliminal signal. This signal simply communicates an exact and almost pathetic sense of how far that being is from its place of birth. On Earth it is never possible to be farther than sixteen thousand miles from your birthplace, which really isn't very far, so such signals are too minute to be noticed. Ford Prefect was at this moment under great stress and he was born six hundred light-years away in the near vicinity of Betelgeuse."
- The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy |
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