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A Hymne to Christ, at the Authors |
last going into Germany. |
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In what torne ship soever I embarke, |
That ship shall be my embleme of thy Arke; |
What sea soever swallow mee, that flood |
Shall be to mee an embleme of thy blood; |
Though thou with clouds of anger do disguise |
Thy face; yet through that maske I know those eyes, |
Which, though they turne away sometimes, They never will despise. |
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I sacrifice this Iland unto thee, |
And all whom I lov'd there, and who lov'd mee; |
When I have put our seas twixt them and mee, |
Put thou thy seas betwixt my sinnes and thee. |
As the trees sap doth seeke the root below |
In winter, in my winter now I goe, |
Where none but thee, th'Eternall root Of true Love I may know. |
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Nor thou nor thy religion dost controule, |
The amourousnesse of an harmonious Soule, |
But thou would'st have that love thy selfe: As thou |
Art jealous, Lord, so I am jealous now, |
Thou lov'st not, till from loving more, thou free |
My soule: Who ever gives, takes libertie:
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[CW: O, if] |