THE last and greatest Herald of Heaven's King, <br />Girt with rough skins, hies to the deserts wild, <br />Among that savage brood the woods forth bring, <br />Which he than man more harmless found and mild. <br />His food was locusts, and what young doth spring <br />With honey that from virgin hives distill'd; <br />Parch'd body, hollow eyes, some uncouth thing <br />Made him appear, long since from earth exiled. <br />There burst he forth: 'All ye, whose hopes rely <br />On God, with me amidst these deserts mourn; <br />Repent, repent, and from old errors turn!' <br />--Who listen'd to his voice, obey'd his cry? <br /> Only the echoes, which he made relent, <br /> Rung from their marble caves 'Repent! Repent!'<br /><br />William Drummond (of Hawthornden)<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/saint-john-baptist-2/
