Religion

Iob Militant: Meditation 15

by Francis Quarles 1592–1644

From Divine Poems (1633), Iob Militant

Religion

THe man whose soule is undistain'd with Ill,
Pure from the check of a distempred Will,
Stands onely free from the distracts of Care,
And flies a pitch above the reach of Feare:
His bosome dares the threatning Bow-mans arme,
His wisedome sees, his Courage feares no harme;
His brest lyes open to the reking Sword;
The darts of swarthy Maurus can affoord
Lesse dread, than danger to his well prepar'd
And setled minde, which (standing on her guard)
Bids Mischiefe doe the worst she can, or will,
For he that does no ill, deserves no ill.
Would any strive with Samson for renowne,
Whose brawny arme can strike most pillers downe
Or try a fall with Angels, and prevaile?
Or with a Hymne unhinge the strongest Iayle?
Would any from a prner prove a Prince?
Or with slow speech best Orators convince?
Preserve he then, unstained in his brest,
A milkewhite Conscience; let his soule be blest
With simple Innocence: This seven fold shield
No dart shall pierce, no sword shall make it yeeld
The siewy Bow, and deadly headed Launce,
Shall breake in shivers and the splinters glaunce
Aside, returning backe, from whence they came,
And wound their hearts with an eternall shame.
The just and constant minde, that perseveres
Vnblemisht with false pleasures, never feares
The bended threatnings of a Tyrants brow,
Death neither can disturbe, nor change his Vow;
Well guarded with himselfe, he walkes along,
When, most alone, he stands a thousand strong.
Lives he in weale, and full Prosperity?
His wisedome tells him, that he lives to dye.
Is he afflicted? Sharpe afflictions give
Him hopes of Chang, and that hee dyes, to live.
Is he revil'd and scorn'd? He sits, and smiles,
Knowing him happy, whom the world reviles.
If Rich, he gives the Poore, and if he live
In poore estate, he findes rich friends to give:
He lives and Angel in a mortall forme;
And having past the brunt of many a storme,
At last ariveth at the Haven of Rest,
Where that just Iudge, that rambles in his brest,
Ioyning with Angels, with an Angels voyce,
Chaunts forth sweet Requies of Eternall joyes.

MLA

Quarles, Francis. “Iob Militant: Meditation 15.” Poetry Codex, poetrycodex.com/poem/quarles/528/.

Chicago

Quarles, Francis. “Iob Militant: Meditation 15.” Poetry Codex. https://poetrycodex.com/poem/quarles/528/.

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