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Poem by William Drummond
For the Baptist
THE last and greatest herald of heaven's king, Girt with rough skins, hies to the deserts wild, Among that savage brood the woods forth bring, Which he than man more harmless found and mild; His food was locusts and what young doth spring, With honey that from virgin hives distill'd; Parch'd body, hollow eyes, some uncouth thing Made him appear, long since from earth exil'd. There burst he forth: "All ye whose hopes rely On God, with me amidst these deserts mourn, Repent, repent, and from old errors turn." Who listen'd to his voice? obey'd his cry? Only the echoes which he made relent, Rung from their marble caves, "Repent, repent.
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