By John Donne.
Moist, with one drop of thy blood, my dry soule
Shall (though she now be in
extreme degree
Too stony
hard, and yet too
fleshly) be
Freed by that drop, from being
starved, hard, or
foul,
And
life, by this
death abled, shall control
Death, whom thy death slew; nor shall to me
Fear of first or last death, bring
misery,
If in thy
little book my name thou enroll,
Flesh in that long
sleep is not putrified,
But made that there, of which, and for which 'twas;
Nor can by other means be glorified.
May then
sins sleep, and deaths soon from me pass,
That waked from both, I again
risen may
Salute the last, and everlasting day.
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