For you are great and do marvelous deeds; you alone are God. Psalm 86: 10
The Cross
by John Donne
Since
Christ embraced the Cross itself, dare I
His image,
th’image of his Cross deny?
Would I
have profit by the sacrifice,
And dare
the chosen altar to despise?
It bore all
other sins, but is it fit
That is
should bear the sin of scorning it?
Who from
the picture would avert his eye,
How would
he fly his pains, who there did die?
From me, no
pulpit, nor misgrounded law,
Nor scandal
taken, shall this Cross withdraw,
It shall
not, for it cannot; for, the loss
Of this Cross,
were to me another cross;
Better were
worse, for, no affliction,
No cross is
so extreme, as to have none.
Who can
blot out the Cross, which th’ instrument
Of God,
dewed on me in the Sacrament?
Who can
deny me power, and liberty
To stretch
mine arms, and mine own cross to be?
Swim, and
at every stroke, thou art thy cross,
The mast
and yard make one, where seas to do toss.
Look down,
thou spiest birds raised on crossed wings;
All the
globe’s frame, and sphere’s, is nothing else
But the
meridians crossing parallels.
Material
crosses then, good physic be,
And yet
spiritual have chief dignity.
These for
extracted chemic medicine serve,
And cure
much better, and as well preserve;
Then are
you your own physic, or need none,
When
stilled, or purged by tribulation.
For when that
Cross ungrudged, unto you sticks,
Then are
you to yourself, a crucifix.
As
perchance, carvers do not faces make,
But that
away, which hid them there, do take:
Let
crosses, so, take what hid Christ in thee,
And be his
image, or not his, but he.
But, as oft
alchemists do coiners prove,
So may a
self-despising, get self-love.
And then as
worst surfeits, of best meats be,
So is
pride, issued from humility,
For, ’tis
no child, but monster; therefore cross
Your joy in
crosses, else, ’tis double loss,
And cross
thy senses, else, both they, and thou
Must perish
soon, and to destruction bow.
For if
the’eye seek good objects, and will take
No cross
from bad, we cannot ‘scape a snake.
So with
harsh, hard, sour, stinking, cross the rest,
Make them
indifferent; call nothing best.
But most
the eye needs crossing, that can roam,
And move;
to th’ others th’ objects must come home.
And cross
thy heart: for that in man alone
Points
downwards, and hath palpitation.
Cross those
dejections, when it downward trends,
And when it
to forbidden heights pretends.
And as the
brain through bony walls doth vent
By sutures,
which a cross’s form present,
So when thy
brain works, ere thou utter it,
Cross and
correct concupiscence of wit.
Be covetous
of crosses, let none fall.
Cross no
man else, but cross thyself in all.
Then doth
the Cross of Christ work fruitfully
Within our
hearts, when we love harmlessly
That Cross’s
pictures much, and with more care
That
Cross’s children, which our crosses are.
