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At the round earth's imagined corners, blow Your trumpets, angels, and arise, arise From death, you numberless infinities Of souls **** All whom war, dearth, age, agues, tyrannies, Despair, law, chance, hath slain.

John Donne

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John Donne
Died: 1631
Died: March 31
Lawyer
Pastor
Poet
Politician
Songwriter
Translator
Writer
London
England
Very Rev. John Donne
Age
Rounds
Slain
Chance
Corners
Trumpets
War
Arise
Infinity
Death
Souls
Imagined
Earth
Blow
Hath
Soul
Despair
Angels
Dearth
Angel
Tyranny
Tyrannies
Law
Round
Numberless

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Keep us, Lord, so awake in the duties of our calling that we may sleep in thy peace and wake in thy glory.
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And if there be any addition to knowledge, it is rather a new knowledge than a greater knowledge rather a singularity in a desire of proposing something that was not knownat all beforethananimproving, anadvancing, a multiplying of former inceptions and by that means, no knowledge comes to be perfect.
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Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
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Commemoration of Pandita Mary Ramabai, Translator of the Scriptures, 1922 A memory of yesterday's pleasures, a fear of tomorrow's dangers, a straw under my knees, a noise in my ear, a light in my eye, an anything, a nothing, a fancy, a chimera in my brain, troubles me in my prayers.
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There is no health physicians say that we, at best, enjoy but neutrality.
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I shall not live 'till I see God and when I have seen Him, I shall never die.
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O how feeble is man's power, that if good fortune fall, cannot add another hour, nor a lost hour recall!
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But think that we Are but turned aside to sleep.
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How many times go we to comedies, to masques, to places of great and noble resort, nay even to church only to see the company.
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Great sorrows cannot speak.
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That thou remember them, some claim as debt I think it mercy, if thou wilt forget.
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The Phoenix riddle hath more wit By us, we two being one, are it. So to one neutral thing both sexes fit, We die and rise the same, and prove Mysterious by this love.
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And new Philosophy calls all in doubt, the element of fire is quite put out the Sun is lost, and the earth, and no mans wit can well direct him where to look for it.
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The day breaks not, it is my heart.
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Sweetest love, I do not go, For weariness of thee, Nor in hope the world can show A fitter love for me But since that I Must die at last, 'tis best, To use my self in jest Thus by feign'd deaths to die.
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As states subsist in part by keeping their weaknesses from being known, so is it the quiet of families to have their chancery and their parliament within doors, and to compose and determine all emergent differences there.
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Nature's lay idiot, I taught thee to love.
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Busy old fool, unruly Sun, why dost thou thus through windows and through curtains call on us? Must to thy motions lovers seasons run?
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In the first minute that my soul is infused, the Image of God is imprinted in my soul so forward is God in my behalf, and so early does he visit me.
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