XIII. “What if this present were the world’s last night?”

WHAT if this present were the world’s last night?

Mark in my heart, O soul, where thou dost dwell,

The picture of Christ crucified, and tell

Whether His countenance can thee affright.

Tears in His eyes quench the amazing light;

Blood fills his frowns, which from His pierced head fell;

And can that tongue adjudge thee unto hell,

Which pray’d forgiveness for His foes’ fierce spite?

No, no; but as in my idolatry

I said to all my profane mistresses,

Beauty of pity, foulness only is

A sign of rigour; so I say to thee,

To wicked spirits are horrid shapes assign’d;

This beauteous form assumes a piteous mind.