Oh my black Soule! Now thou art summoned <br />By sicknesse, deaths herald, and champion; <br />Thou art like a pilgrim, which abroad hath done <br />Treason, and durst not turne to whence hee is fled, <br />Or like a thiefe, which till deaths doome be read, <br />Wisheth himselfe deliverd from prison; <br />But damn'd and hal'd to execution, <br />Wisheth that sill he might be imprisioned; <br />Yet grace, if thou repent, thou canst not lacke; <br />But who shall give thee that grace to beginne? <br />Oh make thy selfe with holy mourning blacke; <br />And red with blushing, as thou art with sinne; <br />Or wash thee in Christ's blood, which hath this might <br />That being red, it dyes red soules to white.<br /><br />John Donne<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/oh-my-blacke-soule-now-thou-art-summoned/
