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John Donne. A Litany
: Donne, John. The Complete
English Poems / Ed. by A. T. Smith. Harmondsworth (Eng.): Penguin, 1973.
.; .: , 2002.
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He is stark mad who ewer saith
That he hath been in love an hour.
J. Donne
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I. The Father
Father of heaven, and him, by whom
It, and us for it, and all else, for us
Thou mad'st, and govern'st ever, come
And re-create me, now grown ruinous:
My heart is by dejection, clay,
And by self-murder, red.
From this red earth, Father, purge away
All vicious tinctures, that new fashioned
I may rise up from death, before I am dead.
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II. The Son
Son of God, who, seeing two things,
Sin, and death crept in, which were never made,
By bearing one, tried'st with what stings
The other could thine heritage invade;
be thou nailed unto my heart,
And crucified again,
Part not from it, though it from thee would part,
But let it be by applying so thy pain,
Drowned in thy blood, and in thy passion slain.
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III. The Holy Ghost
Holy Ghost, whose temple I
Am, but of mud walls, and condensed dust,
And being sacrilegiously
Half wasted with youth's fires, of pride and lust,
Must with new storms be weatherbeat;
Double in my heart thy flame,
Which let devout sad tears intend; and let
(Though this glass lanthorn, flesh, do suffer maim)
Fire, sacrifice, priest, altar be the same.
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IV. The Trinity
Blessed glorious Trinity,
Bones to philosophy, but milk to faith,
Which, as wise serpents, diversely
Most slipperiness, yet most entanglings hath,
As you distinguished undistinct
By power, love, knowledge be,
Give me a such self different instinct,
Of these let all me elemented be,
Of power, to love, to know, you unnumbered three.
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V. The Virgin Mary
For that fair blessed mother-maid,
Whose flesh redeemed us; that she-cherubin,
Which unlocked Paradise, and made
One claim for innocence, and disseized sin,
Whose womb was a strange heaven, for there
God clothed himself, and grew,
Our zealous thanks we pour. As her deeds were
Our helps, so are her prayers; nor can she sue
In vain, who hath such titles unto you.
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VI. The Angels
And since this life our nonage is,
And we in wardship to thine angels be,
Native in heaven's fair palaces,
Where we shall be but denizened by thee,
As th' earth conceiving by the sun,
Yields fair diversity,
Yet never knows which course that light doth run,
So let me study, that mine actions be
Worthy their sight, though blind in how they see.
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VII. The Patriarchs
And let thy patriarchs' desire
(Those great grandfathers of thy Church, which saw
More in the cloud than we in fire,
Whom Nature cleared more, than us grace and law,
And now in heaven still pray, that we
May use our new helps right,)
Be satisfied, and fructify in me;
Let not my mind be blinder by more light
Nor faith by reason added, lose her sight.
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VIII. The Prophets
Thy eagle-sighted prophets too,
Which were thy Church's organs, and did sound
That harmony, which made of two
One law, and did unite, but not confound;
Those heavenly poets which did see
Thy will, and it express
In rhythmic feet, in common pray for me,
That I by them excuse not my excess
In seeking secrets, or poeticness.
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IX. The Apostles
And thy illustrious zodiac
Of twelve apostles, which engirt this all,
(From whom whosoever do not take
Their light, to dark deep pits, throw down, and fall,)
As through their prayers, thou' hast let me know
That their books are divine;
May they pray still, and be heard, that I go
The old broad way in applying; decline
Me, when my comment would make thy word mine.
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X. The Martyrs
And since thou so desirously
Didst long to die, that long before thou couldst,
And long since thou no more couldst die,
Thou in thy scattered mystic body wouldst
In Abel die, and ever since
In thine, let their blood come
To beg for us, a discreet patience
Of death, or of worse life: for oh, to some
Not to be martyrs, is a martyrdom.
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XI. The Confessors
Therefore with thee triumpheth there
A virgin squadron of white confessors,
Whose bloods betrothed, not married were;
Tendered, not taken by those ravishers:
They know, and pray, that we may know,
In every Christian
Hourly tempestuous persecutions grow,
Temptations martyr us alive; a man
Is to himself a Diocletian.
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XII. The Virgins
The cold white snowy nunnery,
Which, as thy mother, their high abbess, sent
Their bodies back again to thee,
As thou hadst lent them, clean and innocent,
Though they have not obtained of thee,
That or thy Church, or I,
Should keep, as they, our first integrity;
Divorce thou sin in us, or bid it die,
And call chaste widowhead virginity.
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XIII. The Doctors
Thy sacred academe above
Of Doctors, whose pains have unclasped, and taught
Both books of life to us (for love
To know thy Scriptures tells us, we are wrought
In thy other book) pray for us there
That what they have misdone
Or mis-said, we to that may not adhere;
Their zeal may be our sin. Lord let us run
Mean ways, and call them stars, but not the sun.
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And whilst this universal choir,
That Church in triumph, this in warfare here,
Warmed with one all-partaking fire
Of love, that none be lost, which cost thee dear,
Prays ceaselessly, and thou hearken too,
(Since to be gracious
Our task is treble, to pray, bear, and do)
Hear this prayer Lord: Lord deliver us
From trusting in those prayers, though poured out th
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From being anxious, or secure,
Dead clods of sadness, or light squibs of mirth,
From thinking, that great courts immure
All, or no happiness, or that this earth
Is only for our prison framed,
Or that thou art covetous
To them whom thou lov'st, or that they are maimed
From reaching this world's sweet, who seek thee thus,
With all their might, Good Lord deliver us.
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From needing danger, to be good,
From owing thee yesterday's tears today,
From trusting so much to thy blood,
That in that hope, we wound our soul away,
From bribing thee with alms, to excuse
Some sin more burdenous,
From light affecting, in religion, news,
From thinking us all soul, neglecting thus
Our mutual duties, Lord deliver us.
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From tempting Satan to tempt us,
By our connivance, or slack company,
From measuring ill by vicious,
Neglecting to choke sin's spawn, vanity,
From indiscreet humility,
Which might be scandalous,
And cast reproach on Christianity,
From being spies, or to spies pervious,
From thirst, or scorn of fame, deliver us.
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Deliver us for thy descent
Into the Virgin, whose womb was a place
Of middle kind; and thou being sent
To ungracious us, stayed'st at her full of grace,
And through thy poor birth, where first thou
Glorified'st poverty,
And yet soon after riches didst allow,
By accepting Kings' gifts in the Epiphany,
Deliver, and make us, to both ways free.
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And through that bitter agony,
Which is still the agony of pious wits,
Disputing what distorted thee,
And interrupted evenness with fits,
And through thy free confession
Though thereby they were then
Made blind, so that thou mightst from them have gone,
Good Lord deliver us, and teach us when
We may not, and we may blind unjust men.
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Through thy submitting all, to blows
Thy face, thy clothes to spoil, thy fame to scorn,
All ways, which rage, or justice knows,
And by which thou couldst show, that thou wast born,
And through thy gallant humbleness
Which thou in death didst show,
Dying before thy soul they could express,
Deliver us from death, by dying so,
To this world, ere this world do bid us go.
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When senses, which thy soldiers are,
We arm against thee, and they fight for sin,
When want, sent but to tame, doth war
And work despair a breach to enter in,
When plenty, God's image, and seal
Makes us idolatrous,
And love it, not him, whom it should reveal,
When we are moved to seem religious
Only to vent wit, Lord deliver us.
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In churches, when the infirmity
Of him that speaks diminishes the Word,
When magistrates do mis-apply
To us, as we judge, lay or ghostly sword,
When plague, which is thine angel, reigns,
Or wars, thy champions, sway,
When, heresy, thy second deluge, gains;
In th' hour of death, th' eve of last judgment day,
Deliver us from the sinister way.
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Hear us, hear us Lord; to thee
A sinner is more music, when he prays,
Than spheres, or angels' praises be,
In panegyric alleluias,
Hear us, for till thou hear us, Lord
We know not what to say.
Thine ear to our sighs, tears, thoughts gives voice and word,
thou who Satan heard'st in Job's sick day,
Hear thyself now, for thou in us dost pray.
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That we may change to evenness
This intermitting aguish piety,
That snatching cramps of wickedness
And apoplexies of fast sin, may die;
That music of thy promises,
Not threats in thunder may
Awaken us to our just offices;
What in thy book, thou dost, or creatures say,
That we may hear, Lord hear us, when we pray.
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That our ears' sickness we may cure,
And rectify those labyrinths aright,
That we by hearkening, not procure
Our praise, nor others' dispraise so invite,
That we get not a slipperiness,
And senselessly decline,
From hearing bold wits jest at kings' excess,
To admit the like of majesty divine,
That we may lock our ears, Lord open thine.
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That living law, the magistrate,
Which to give us, and make us physic, doth
Our vices often aggravate,
That preachers taxing sin, before her growth,
That Satan, and envenomed men
Which will, if we starve, dine,
When they do most accuse us, may see then
Us, to amendment, hear them; thee decline;
That we may open our ears, Lord lock thine.
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That learning, thine ambassador,
From thine allegiance we never tempt,
That beauty, paradise's flower
For physic made, from poison be exempt,
That wit, born apt high good to do,
By dwelling lazily
On Nature's nothing, be not nothing too,
That our affections kill us not, nor die,
Hear us, weak echoes, thou ear, and cry.
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Son of God hear us, and since thou
By taking our blood, owest it us again,
Gain to thy self, or us allow;
And let not both us and thy self be slain;
Lamb of God, which took'st our sin
Which could not stick to thee,
let it not return to us again,
But patient and physician being free,
As sin is nothing, let it no where be.
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Last-modified: Wed, 12 Apr 2006 03:44:15 GMT