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Holy Sonnets
Holy Sonnet IV

by John Donne

Oh my blacke Soule! now thou art summoned 
By sicknesse, deaths herald, and champion; 
Thou art like a pilgrim, which abroad hath done 
Treason, and durst not turne to whence hee is fled, 
Or like a thiefe, which till deaths doome be read, 
Wisheth himselfe delivered from prison; 
But damn'd and hal'd to execution, 
Wisheth that still he might be imprisoned. 
Yet grace, if thou repent, thou canst not lacke; 
But who shall give thee that grace to beginne? 
Oh make thy selfe with holy mourning blacke, 
And red with blushing, as thou art with sinne; 
Or wash thee in Christs blood, which hath this might 
That being red, it dyes red soules to white. 
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