Batter my heart, three person'd God for you
As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend;
That I may rise and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend
Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I like an usurp'd town to'another due,
Labor to'admit you, but oh to no end;
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captiv'd. and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly'I love you, and would be lov'd fain,
But I am betroth'd to your enemy;
Divorce me, 'untie or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except you'entrall me, never shall be free
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.
Wilt thou forgive that sin where I begun,
Which was my sin, though it were done before?
Wilt thou forgive that sin, through which I run,
And do run still, though still I do deplore?
When thou hast done, thou hast not done,
For I have more.
Wilt thou forgive that sin which I have won
Others to sin, and made my sin their door?
Wilt thou forgive that sin which I did shun
A year or two, but wallowed in, a score?
When thou hast done, thou hast not done,
For I have more.
I have a sin of fear, that when I have spun
My last thread, I shall perish on the shore;
But swear by thyself, that at my death thy Son
Shall shine as he shines now, and heretofore;
And, having done that, thou hast done;
I fear no more.
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for though art not so;
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow.
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou art a slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell;
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.