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Anne Bradstreet - Spirit

Be still, thou unregenerate part, 
Disturb no more my settled heart, 
For I have vow'd (and so will do) 
Thee as a foe still to pursue, 
And combat with thee will and must 
Until I see thee laid in th' dust. 
Sister we are, yea twins we be, 
Yet deadly feud 'twixt thee and me, 
For from one father are we not. 
Thou by old Adam wast begot, 
But my arise is from above, 
Whence my dear father I do love. 
Thou speak'st me fair but hat'st me sore. 
Thy flatt'ring shews I'll trust no more. 
How oft thy slave hast thou me made 
When I believ'd what thou hast said 
And never had more cause of woe 
Than when I did what thou bad'st do. 
I'll stop mine ears at these thy charms 
And count them for my deadly harms. 
Thy sinful pleasures I do hate, 
Thy riches are to me no bait. 
Thine honours do, nor will I love, 
For my ambition lies above. 
My greatest honour it shall be 
When I am victor over thee, 
And Triumph shall, with laurel head, 
When thou my Captive shalt be led. 
How I do live, thou need'st not scoff, 
For I have meat thou know'st not of. 
The hidden Manna I do eat; 
The word of life, it is my meat. 
My thoughts do yield me more content 
Than can thy hours in pleasure spent. 
Nor are they shadows which I catch, 
Nor fancies vain at which I snatch 
But reach at things that are so high, 
Beyond thy dull Capacity. 
Eternal substance I do see 
With which inriched I would be. 
Mine eye doth pierce the heav'ns and see 
What is Invisible to thee. 
My garments are not silk nor gold, 
Nor such like trash which Earth doth hold, 
But Royal Robes I shall have on, 
More glorious than the glist'ring Sun. 
My Crown not Diamonds, Pearls, and gold, 
But such as Angels' heads infold. 
The City where I hope to dwell, 
There's none on Earth can parallel. 
The stately Walls both high and trong 
Are made of precious Jasper stone, 
The Gates of Pearl, both rich and clear, 
And Angels are for Porters there. 
The Streets thereof transparent gold 
Such as no Eye did e're behold. 
A Crystal River there doth run 
Which doth proceed from the Lamb's Throne. 
Of Life, there are the waters sure 
Which shall remain forever pure. 
Nor Sun nor Moon they have no need 
For glory doth from God proceed. 
No Candle there, nor yet Torch light, 
For there shall be no darksome night. 
From sickness and infirmity 
Forevermore they shall be free. 
Nor withering age shall e're come there, 
But beauty shall be bright and clear. 
This City pure is not for thee, 
For things unclean there shall not be. 
If I of Heav'n may have my fill, 
Take thou the world, and all that will." 

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Poet: Anne Bradstreet
Poem: Spirit
Poem of the Day: Aug 8 2008
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