By John Donne (17th Century)
O FRUITFUL garden, and yet never till’d!
Box full of treasure, yet by no man fill’d!
O thou which hast made Him that first made thee!
O near of kin to all the Trinity!
O palace, where the King of all, and more,
Went in and out, yet never open’d door,
Whose flesh is purer than an other’s spirit,
Reach Him our prayers, and reach us down His merit!
O bread of life which swelld’st up without leaven!
O bridge which join’st together earth and heaven!
Whose eyes see me through these walls, and through glass,
And through this flesh as thorough cypress pass.
Behold a little heart made great by thee
Swelling, yet shrinking at thy majesty.
O dwell in it! for wheresoe’er thou go’st,
There is the temple of the Holy Ghost.