Poem by John Donne

Holy Sonnet 7. At the round earth's imagined corners, blow

At the round earth's imagined corners, blow
Your trumpets, Angels, and arise, arise
From death, you numberless infinities
Of souls, and to your scattered bodies go,

All whom the flood did, and fire shall o'erthrow,
All whom war, dearth, age, agues, tyrannies,
Despair, law, chance, hath slain, and you whose eyes,
Shall behold God, and never taste death's woe.

But let them sleep, Lord, and me mourn a space,
For, if above all these, my sins abound,
'Tis late to ask abundance of thy grace,
When we are there; here on this lowly ground,

Teach me how to repent; for that's as good
As if thou hadst sealed my pardon, with thy blood.

1. Holy Sonnet 12. Why are we by all creatures waited on?
2. Holy Sonnet 15. Wilt thou love God as he thee? then digest
3. Holy Sonnet 9. If poisonous minerals, and if that tree
4. Holy Sonnet 18. Show me, dear Christ, thy spouse so bright and clear
5. Holy Sonnet 5. I am a little world made cunningly

Print

1786 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version