HOLY SONNETS.
XIV.
Batter my heart, three-person'd God ; for you
As yet but knock ; breathe, shine, and seek to mend ;
That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend
Your force, to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I, like an usurp'd town, to another due,
Labour to admit you, but O, to no end.
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captived, and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain,
But am betroth'd unto your enemy ;
Divorce me, untie, or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.
1 comment:
Is there now no longer any room for coaxing: softly or tenderly, the still small voice, the beaconing hurt of the soul. Am I no longer able to BEHOLD and hearken and open the door to the knocking imploring Christ? Has this language finally lost its meaning? Has it all been wrapped so intricately in the Jesus is my friend theology--the luke warm evangelicalism--that chilled my faith. Am I know at the point where I require a heart not implored but battered?
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