By
John Donne.
O Holy
Ghost, whose
temple I
A,, but of mudde walls, and condensed
dust,
And being
sacrilegiously
Halfe wasted with youth's
fires, of
pride and
lust,
Must with new
stomaches be
weatherbeat;
Double in my heart thy
flame,
Which let
devout sad
tears intend; and let
(Though this
glasse lanthorne,
flesh, do suffer maime)
Fire,
Sacrifice,
Priest,
Altar be the same.