Monday, April 21, 2014

Easter Day by John Donne

Sleep, sleep, old Sun! thou canst not have repast
As yet the wound thou took’st on Friday last;
Sleep then and rest; the world may bear thy stay,
A better sun rose before thee to-day.
Who not content t’enlighten all that dwell
On the earth’s face, as thou, enlighten’d hell;
And made the dark fires languish in that vale,
As at thy presence here our fires grow pale.
Whose body, having walk’d on earth, and now
Hastening to heaven, would—that He might allow
Himself unto all stations, and fill all—
For these three days become a mineral.
He was all gold when He lay down, but rose
All tincture, and doth not alone dispose
Leaden and iron wills to good, but is
Of power to make even sinful flesh like His.

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