Sunday morning poem

By Heraclitus

Okay, so last week I posted some not very nice things about certain (admittedly howlingly risible) emerging (and, one hopes, stillborn) forms or strands of Christianity. This Sunday morning, I want to take a little time out from my part in the War on Christmas (I blow up lawn Santas) to post a wonderful religious poem, good for Sunday, good for this time of year. It's by John Donne, and besides the brilliant imagery and metaphors, I love the way the poem presents "Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,/ But is captiv'd, and proves weak or untrue."

"Batter my heart, three-person'd God"

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 am betroth'd unto your enemy;

Divorce me,'untie or break that knot again,

Take me to you, imprison me, for I,

Except you'enthrall me, never shall be free,

Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.