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HOLY CHURCH, THE POPE AND THE TURKS
Lord, keep us by thy word in hope,
And check the murder of Turk and Pope,
Who Jesus Christ, thine only Son,
Would fain from off thy throne cast down.
Proof of thy strength, Lord Christ, afford,
For thou of all the lords art Lord;
Thy own poor Christendom defend,
That it may praise thee without end.
God Holy Ghost, who Comfort art,
Give to thy folk on earth one heart;
Stand by us breathing our last breath;
Into life lead us out of death.
VI
A SONG OF THE HOLY CHRISTIAN CHURCH, FROM THE TWELFTH CHAPTER OF THE
APOCALYPSE
Her, the worthy maid, my heart doth hold,
And I shall not forget her.
Praise, honour, virtue of her are told;
Than all I love her better.
I seek her good,
And if I should
Right evil fare,
I do not care:
With that she’ll make me merry!
With love and truth that never tire
Glad she will make me very,
And do all my desire.
She wears a crown of pure gold, where
Twelve stars their rays are twining;
Her raiment like the sun is fair,
And bright from far is shining.
Her feet the moon
Are set upon;
She is the bride
By Jesus’ side!
She hath sorrow, must be mother
To her fair child, the noble Son,
Of all men lord and brother,
Her king, her crowned one.
That makes the old dragon ramp and roar;
The child he tries to swallow;
His rage is rage and nothing more!
No hurt that rage will follow.
The child up high
Into the sky
Away is heft,
And he is left
On earth, all mad with murder.
The mother all alone is she,
But God will watch and ward her,
And her true Father be.
VII
A SONG CONCERNING THE TWO MARTYRS OF CHRIST, BURNT AT BRUSSELS BY THE
SOPHISTS OF LOUBAINE, WHICH TOOK PLACE IN THE YEAR 1523
A new song here shall be begun—
The Lord God help our singing!—
Of what our God himself hath done,
Praise, honour to him bringing:
At Brussels in the Netherlands,
By two young boys, He gracious
Displays the wonders of his hands,
Giving them gifts right precious,
And richly them adorning.
The first right fitly John was named,
So rich he in God’s favour;
His brother, Henry—one unblamed,
Whose salt had lost no savour.
From this world they are gone away,
The diadem they’ve gained!
Honest, like God’s good children, they
For his word life disdained,
And have become his martyrs.
The ancient foe on them laid hold,
With terrors did enwrap them;
To lie against God’s word them told,
With cunning would entrap them:
From Louvaine too, to see the game
And in his crust nets take them,
Many a sophist gathered came:
The Spirit fools did make them—
Their cunning could gain nothing.
Oh! they sung sweet, and they sung sour;
Oh! they tried every double;
Lord, keep us by thy word in hope,
And check the murder of Turk and Pope,
Who Jesus Christ, thine only Son,
Would fain from off thy throne cast down.
Proof of thy strength, Lord Christ, afford,
For thou of all the lords art Lord;
Thy own poor Christendom defend,
That it may praise thee without end.
God Holy Ghost, who Comfort art,
Give to thy folk on earth one heart;
Stand by us breathing our last breath;
Into life lead us out of death.
VI
A SONG OF THE HOLY CHRISTIAN CHURCH, FROM THE TWELFTH CHAPTER OF THE
APOCALYPSE
Her, the worthy maid, my heart doth hold,
And I shall not forget her.
Praise, honour, virtue of her are told;
Than all I love her better.
I seek her good,
And if I should
Right evil fare,
I do not care:
With that she’ll make me merry!
With love and truth that never tire
Glad she will make me very,
And do all my desire.
She wears a crown of pure gold, where
Twelve stars their rays are twining;
Her raiment like the sun is fair,
And bright from far is shining.
Her feet the moon
Are set upon;
She is the bride
By Jesus’ side!
She hath sorrow, must be mother
To her fair child, the noble Son,
Of all men lord and brother,
Her king, her crowned one.
That makes the old dragon ramp and roar;
The child he tries to swallow;
His rage is rage and nothing more!
No hurt that rage will follow.
The child up high
Into the sky
Away is heft,
And he is left
On earth, all mad with murder.
The mother all alone is she,
But God will watch and ward her,
And her true Father be.
VII
A SONG CONCERNING THE TWO MARTYRS OF CHRIST, BURNT AT BRUSSELS BY THE
SOPHISTS OF LOUBAINE, WHICH TOOK PLACE IN THE YEAR 1523
A new song here shall be begun—
The Lord God help our singing!—
Of what our God himself hath done,
Praise, honour to him bringing:
At Brussels in the Netherlands,
By two young boys, He gracious
Displays the wonders of his hands,
Giving them gifts right precious,
And richly them adorning.
The first right fitly John was named,
So rich he in God’s favour;
His brother, Henry—one unblamed,
Whose salt had lost no savour.
From this world they are gone away,
The diadem they’ve gained!
Honest, like God’s good children, they
For his word life disdained,
And have become his martyrs.
The ancient foe on them laid hold,
With terrors did enwrap them;
To lie against God’s word them told,
With cunning would entrap them:
From Louvaine too, to see the game
And in his crust nets take them,
Many a sophist gathered came:
The Spirit fools did make them—
Their cunning could gain nothing.
Oh! they sung sweet, and they sung sour;
Oh! they tried every double;
Другие электронные книги автора George MacDonald
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очень хорошая книга для студентов и учителей