By John Donne.

O Holy Ghost, whose temple I
A,, but of mudde walls, and condensed dust,
And being sacrilegiously
Halfe wasted with youth's fires, of pride and lust,
Must with new stomaches be weatherbeat;
Double in my heart thy flame,
Which let devout sad tears intend; and let
(Though this glasse lanthorne, flesh, do suffer maime)
Fire, Sacrifice, Priest, Altar be the same.

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