By John Donne
Immensity cloistered in thy dear womb,
Now leaves his welbelov'd
imprisonment,
There he hath made himself to his
intent
Weak enough, now into our
world to come;
But Oh, for thee, for him, hath th'Inne no roome?
Yet lay him in this stall, and from
the Orient,
Stars, and
wisemen will travel to prevent
Th'effect of Herod's
jealous general doom;
Seest thou, my
Soul, with thy
faith's eyes, how he
Which fills all place, yet none holds him, doth lie?
Was not his pity towards thee
wondrous high,
That would have need to be pitied by thee?
Kiss him, and with him into
Egypt goe,
With his kind mother, who partakes thy woe.
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