Since I am coming to that holy room,
Where, with thy
choir of saints for evermore,
I shall be made thy music;
as I come
I tune the
instrument here at the door,
And what I must do
then, think here before.
Whilst my physicians by their love are
grown
Cosmographers, and
I their map, who lie
Flat on this bed, that by them may be shown
That this is my
south-west discovery,
Per
fretum febris, by these straits to die,
I joy, that in these straits I see my West;
For, though their currents
yield return to none,
What shall my West hurt me? As West
and East
In all flat maps (and I am
one) are one,
So death doth touch the
resurrection.
Is the Pacific Sea my home? Or are
The Eastern riches? Is
Jerusalem?
Anyan, and Magellan, and Gibraltar,
All straits, and none but
straits, are ways to them,
Whether where Japhet dwelt, or
Cham, or Shem.
We think that Paradise and Calvary,
Christ's cross, and Adam's
tree, stood in one place;
Look, Lord, and find both Adams met in me;
As the first Adam's sweat
surrounds my face,
May the last Adam's blood my
soul embrace.
So, in his purple wrapped, receive me, Lord;
By these his thorns, give me
his other crown;
And, as to others' souls I preached Thy word,
Be this my text, my sermon to
mine own:
Therefore that he may raise the Lord throws
down.
