Poem by John Donne

Holy Sonnet 4. Oh my black Soule! Now thou art summoned

Oh my black Soule! Now thou art summoned
By sicknesse, deaths herald, and champion;
Thou art like a pilgrim, which abroad hath done
Treason, and durst not turne to whence hee is fled,
Or like a thiefe, which till deaths doome be read,
Wisheth himselfe deliverd from prison;
But damn'd and hal'd to execution,
Wisheth that sill he might be imprisioned;
Yet grace, if thou repent, thou canst not lacke;
But who shall give thee that grace to beginne?
Oh make thy selfe with holy mourning blacke;
And red with blushing, as thou art with sinne;
Or wash thee in Christ's blood, which hath this might
That being red, it dyes red soules to white. 

1. Holy Sonnet 13. What if this present were the world's last night?
2. Holy Sonnet 5. I am a little world made cunningly
3. Holy Sonnet 9. If poisonous minerals, and if that tree
4. Holy Sonnet 8. If faithful souls be alike glorified
5. Holy Sonnet 12. Why are we by all creatures waited on?

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