Thou hast made me, and shall thy work decay? <br /> Repair me now, for now mine end doth haste, <br /> I run to death, and death meets me as fast, <br /> And all my pleasures are like yesterday; <br /> I dare not move my dim eyes any way, <br /> Despair behind, and death before doth cast <br /> Such terror, and my feebled flesh doth waste <br /> By sin in it, which it t'wards hell doth weigh. <br /> Only thou art above, and when towards thee <br /> By thy leave I can look, I rise again; <br /> But our old subtle foe so tempteth me, <br /> That not one hour I can myself sustain; <br /> Thy grace may wing me to prevent his art, <br /> And thou like adamant draw mine iron heart.<br /><br />John Donne<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/holy-sonnet/
