16.01.2011, 12:01
"These eyes, deare Lord, once brandons of desire,
Fraile scoutes betraying what they had to keepe,
Which their owne heart, than others set on fire,
Their traitrous blacke before thee heere out-weepe:
These lockes, of blushing deedes the faire attire,
Smooth-frizled waves, sad shelfes which shadow deepe,
Soule-stinging serpents in gilt curles which creepe,
To touch thy sacred feete doe now aspire.
In seas of care behold a sinking barke,
By windes of sharpe remorse unto thee driven;
O let mee not expos'd be Ruines marke,
My faults confest, Lord, say they are forgiven."
Thus sigh'd to Jesus the Bethanian faire,
His teare-wet feete still drying with her haire.
Fraile scoutes betraying what they had to keepe,
Which their owne heart, than others set on fire,
Their traitrous blacke before thee heere out-weepe:
These lockes, of blushing deedes the faire attire,
Smooth-frizled waves, sad shelfes which shadow deepe,
Soule-stinging serpents in gilt curles which creepe,
To touch thy sacred feete doe now aspire.
In seas of care behold a sinking barke,
By windes of sharpe remorse unto thee driven;
O let mee not expos'd be Ruines marke,
My faults confest, Lord, say they are forgiven."
Thus sigh'd to Jesus the Bethanian faire,
His teare-wet feete still drying with her haire.