Monday, 14 December 2009

A Childe my Choyce

Let folly praise that fancy loves, I praise and love that childe
Whose hart no thought, whose tong no word, whose hand no deed defilde.
I praise him most I love him best all prayse and love is his
While him I love, in him I live, and cannot lyve amisse
Loves sweetest mark, lawdes highest theme, mans most desired light
To love him life to leave him death to live in Him delighte
He myne by gift I his by debt thus ech to other Dewe
First frende he was best frende he is, all tymes will try Him trewe.
Though yonge yet wise though small yet stronge though man yet God he is
As wise he knows, as stronge he can as God He loves to blesse
His knowledge rules his strength defendes his love doth cherish all
His birth our joye, his life our light, his death our end of thrall
Alas he weepes he sighes he pantes yet do his Angels sing
Out of his teares his sighes and throbbs doth bud a joyfull springe
Almighty babe whose tender armes can force all foes to flye
Correct my faultes, protect my life direct me when I die.

St Robert Southwell SJ (1561-95)

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