Turning Blaze, Response To John Fleming and Ye All
Am I from thine amity pleas'd,
So tell thou how in me eris'd
Of Joy the sorrow and the dawn,
Of Beauty mistery and frown:
'Tis sung in here the sighing sail,
The waves,the sea- forsake!
Will ever rest the Foaming tail?
Or come to border- the heart's bleeding lake.
Dost not I strum the lyre vain,
Through One It comes, It tends,
Dost not in rapture nor in pain
Immortal peace will stand.
I
Is innocent the sight, art pure the eyes,
Whose light the son inheart to mother;
For she feels beating while he cries,
Her warm shall heal, her arm won't cover.
II
No more those lights will ray, while growing,
The sun of their believing will be snowing:
Eternity be leaving, exil'd The passions hoar,
To live whilst it is streaming, To Glory birth from sore.
III
For every way I drop as fallen,
Found I nor blame or bless,
Thus itself was kiss'd the burden:
Could whose hear this ail- confess?
IV
Those sorrow's voices trembling loud,
For drawling mouth them never frame'd:
Their hollow rouses, diming fraud,
Why may thy stem abroad, asham'd?
V
From mine a source may raise:
Inspiring ye be all my prize.
Copyright ©
Arthur Plisenhayer
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