| |
| GIVE me my scallop-shell of quiet, | |
| My staff of faith to walk upon, | |
| My scrip of joy, immortal diet, | |
| My bottle of salvation, | |
| My gown of glory, hope’s true gage; | 5 |
| And thus I’ll take my pilgrimage. | |
| |
| Blood must be my body’s balmer; | |
| No other balm will there be given; | |
| Whilst my soul, like quiet palmer, | |
| Travelleth towards the land of heaven; | 10 |
| Over the silver mountains, | |
| Where spring the nectar fountains: | |
| There will I kiss | |
| The bowls of bliss; | |
| And drink mine everlasting fill | 15 |
| Upon every milken hill. | |
| My soul will be a-dry before; | |
| But, after, it will thirst no more. | |
| |
| Then by that happy blissful day, | |
| More peaceful pilgrims I shall see, | 20 |
| That have cast off their rags of clay, | |
| And walk apparelled fresh like me. | |
| I’ll take them first | |
| To quench their thirst | |
| And taste of nectar suckets, | 25 |
| At those clear wells | |
| Where sweetness dwells, | |
| Drawn up by saints in crystal buckets. | |
| |
| And when our bottles and all we | |
| Are filled with immortality, | 30 |
| Then the blessed paths we’ll travel, | |
| Strowed with rubies thick as gravel; | |
| Ceilings of diamonds, sapphire floors, | |
| High walls of coral and pearly bowers. | |
| From thence to heaven’s bribeless hall, | 35 |
| Where no corrupted voices brawl; | |
| No conscience molten into gold, | |
| No forged accuser bought or sold, | |
| No cause deferred, no vain-spent journey, | |
| For there Christ is the king’s Attorney, | 40 |
| Who pleads for all without degrees, | |
| And He hath angels, but no fees. | |
| And when the grand twelve-million jury | |
| Of our sins, with direful fury, | |
| Against our souls black verdicts give, | 45 |
| Christ pleads His death, and then we live. | |
| |
| Be Thou my speaker, taintless pleader, | |
| Unblotted lawyer, true proceeder! | |
| Thou givest salvation even for alms; | |
| Not with a bribed lawyer’s palms. | 50 |
| And this is mine eternal plea | |
| To Him that made heaven, earth, and sea, | |
| That, since my flesh must die so soon, | |
| And want a head to dine at noon, | |
| Just at the stroke, when my veins start and spread, | 55 |
| Set on my soul an everlasting head! | |
| Then am I ready, like a palmer fit, | |
| To tread those blest paths which before I writ. | |
| Of death and judgment, heaven and hell, | |
| Who oft doth think, must needs die well. | 60 |
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