The Widow's Mites
Two mites, two drops, yet all her house and land,
Fall from a steady heart, though trembling hand :
The other's wanton wealth foams high, and brave ;
The other cast away, she only gave.
poem by Richard Crashaw
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To our Lord, upon the Water Made Wine
Thou water turn'st to wine, fair friend of life,
Thy foe, to cross the sweet arts of thy reign,
Distills from thence the tears of wrath and strife,
And so turns wine to water back again.
poem by Richard Crashaw
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Divine Epigrams: To our Lord, upon the Water Made Wine
Thou water turn'st to wine, fair friend of life,
Thy foe, to cross the sweet arts of thy reign,
Distills from thence the tears of wrath and strife,
And so turns wine to water back again.
poem by Richard Crashaw
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On the Baptized Ethiopian
Let it no longer be a forlorn hope
To wash an Ethiop :
He's wash'd, his gloomy skin a peaceful shade
For his white soul is made :
And now, I doubt not, the Eternal Dove
A black-faced house will love.
poem by Richard Crashaw
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Two Went up into the Temple to Pray
Two went to pray? O rather say
One went to brag, th' other to pray:
One stands up close and treads on high,
Where th' other dares not send his eye.
One nearer to God's altar trod,
The other to the altar's God.
poem by Richard Crashaw
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On the still surviving Marks of our Saviour's
Whatever story of their cruelty,
Or nail, or thorn, or spear have writ in Thee,
Are in another sense
Still legible ;
Sweet is the difference :
Once I did spell
Every red letter
A wound of Thine ;
Now, what is better,
Balsam for mine.
poem by Richard Crashaw
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Christ Crucified
THY restless feet now cannot go
For us and our eternal good,
As they were ever wont. What though
They swim, alas! in their own flood?
Thy hands to give Thou canst not lift,
Yet will Thy hand still giving be;
It gives, but O, itself's the gift!
It gives tho' bound, tho' bound 'tis free!
poem by Richard Crashaw
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The Recommendation
These houres, and that which hovers o’re my End,
Into thy hands, and hart, lord, I commend.
Take Both to Thine Account, that I and mine
In that Hour, and in these, may be all thine.
That as I dedicate my devoutest Breath
To make a kind of Life for my lord’s Death,
So from his living, and life-giving Death,
My dying Life may draw a new, and never fleeting Breath.
poem by Richard Crashaw
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An Epitaph upon Husband and Wife
TO these whom death again did wed
This grave 's the second marriage-bed.
For though the hand of Fate could force
'Twixt soul and body a divorce,
It could not sever man and wife,
Because they both lived but one life.
Peace, good reader, do not weep;
Peace, the lovers are asleep.
They, sweet turtles, folded lie
In the last knot that love could tie.
Let them sleep, let them sleep on,
Till the stormy night be gone,
And the eternal morrow dawn;
Then the curtains will be drawn,
And they wake into a light
Whose day shall never die in night.
poem by Richard Crashaw
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Divine Epigrams: On the Baptized Ethiopian
Let it no longer be a forlorn hope
To wash an Ethiope;
He's wash'd, his gloomy skin a peaceful shade,
For his white soul is made;
And now, I doubt not, the Eternal Dove
A black-fac'd house will love.Credits and CopyrightTogether with the editors, the Department ofEnglish (University of Toronto), and the University of Toronto Press,the following individuals share copyright for the work that wentinto this edition:Screen Design (Electronic Edition): Sian Meikle (University ofToronto Library)Scanning: Sharine Leung (Centre for Computing in the Humanities)
poem by Richard Crashaw
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