Our B[Lessed] Lord In His Circumcision To His Father.[30]

1. To Thee these first-fruits of My growing death (For what else is My life?), lo! I bequeath:

2. Tast this, and as Thou lik'st this lesser flood Expect a sea; My heart shall make it good.

3. Thy wrath that wades here now, e're long shall swim, The floodgate shall be set wide ope for Him.

4. Then let Him drinke, and drinke, and doe His worst To drowne the wantonnesse of His wild thirst.

5. Now's but the nonage of My paines, My feares Are yett but hopes, weake as my infant yeares.

6. The day of My darke woe is yet but morne, My teares but tender, and My death new-borne.

7. Yet may these unfledg'd griefes give fate some guesse, These cradle-torments have their towardnesse.

8. These purple buds of blooming death may bee, Erst the full stature of a fatall tree.

9. And till My riper woes to age are come, This knife may be the speare's praeludium.