John Donne, Holy Sonnet II

As due many titles I resigne

My selfe to thee, O God, first I was made

By thee, and for thee, and when I was decay’d

Thy blood bought that, the which before was thine;

I am thy sonne, made with thy selfe to shine,

Thy servant, whose paines thou hast still repaid,

Thy sheepe, thine Image, and, till I betray’d

My selfe, a temple of thy Spirit divine;

Why doth the devill then usurpe on mee?

Why doth he steale, nay ravish that’s thy right?

Except thou rise and for thine owne worke fight,

Oh I shall soone despaire, when I doe see

That thou lov’st mankind well, yet wilt’not chuse me,

And Satan hates mee, yet is loth to lose mee.

John Donne, Holy Sonnet II


Sir Orfeo was a King of Old

I read Tolkien’s translation of Sir Orfeo again tonight. It’s really delightful. Sir Orfeo was written by a medieval poet, the same author of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight and Pearl, back in the days of mead halls, chivalry, and holy quests. In fact, the volume from which I’m reading contains Tolkien’s translations of all three.

The poem tells the story of a good king in Winchester, whose abode was “Tracience, a city of stout defense.” He was descended from gods, his father in the lineage of Pluto and his mother of Juno. Orfeo was famed for his skill with as a harpist, for a better harper there was none.

Sir Orfeo, too, all things beyond

of harping’s sweet delight was fond,

and sure were all good harpers there

of him to earn them honour fair;

himself he loved to touch the harp

and pluck the strings with fingers sharp.

His wife, the queen Lady Heurodis, was, of course, the fairest lady who ever flesh and blood did wear. Well, it happens that she, sleeping under “a bower quiet,” is snatched away by the king of a magical realm, Orfeo and his men unable to save her. Rent in grief, Orfeo leaves his kingdom to his steward and departs into the wilderness as a beggar, with naught but cloak and harp. After wandering for years in the wilderness, Orfeo wins back his queen by his harper’s skill.

Sir Orfeo is a good story not only because of its poetic beauty and imagery, but especially because it reflects certain aspects of the great story, God’s narrative. King Orfeo represents the ideal good king. He is wise, courageous, benevolent, and humble. His subjects serve him out of loving and grateful devotion. Further, Orfeo  is the majestic king who humbles himself in the form of a wandering beggar.

A me! the weeping woe that day,

when he that had been king with crown

went thus beggarly out of town!

Through wood and over moorland bleak

he now the wilderness doth seek

What other King whom we know humbled himself thus, “taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men?” Of what other King can we say, though foxes have holes and birds their nests, “the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head?” And how much greater was our Lord’s humiliation, that God would become man, and the servant of men!

In the realm of the wicked king, we see a picture of the deceit of Satan and the state of man in his fallen nature. The city in the mountain is beautiful and majestic, filled with light, and it seemed to Orfeo that he gazed on Paradise. But its inhabitants, all the captives of the king of the land, were dead men walking,

for some there stood who had no head,

and some no arms, nor feet; some bled

and through their bodies wounds were set…

…Thus in the world was each one caught

and thither by fairy magic brought.

Orfeo frees his bride from this captivity of death, as our Lord frees us from captivity, breaking the power of death and hell.

The steward, too, reflects the biblical themes of feasting and hospitality, as he invites this travelling minstrel, his king in disguise, in to share in his own lot. The poem ends beautifully, as Orfeo returns to Winchester to find that his steward has remained faithful and loyal the the king. May we declare, upon Christ’s second advent, as Orfeo’s steward did, “Ye are our lord, sir, and our king!”

So have a seat, pick up Tolkien’s excellent translation, and learn of feasting, benevolence, loyalty, love, music, meekness, and courage from Sir Orfeo.

Sir Orfeo was a king of old,

in England lordship high did hold;

valour he had and hardihood,

a courteous king whose gifts were good.

Grace Abounding

  “Grace takes its rise far back in the heart of God, in the awful and incomprehensible abyss of His holy being; but  the channel through which it flows out to men is Jesus Christ, crucified and risen….

We who feel ourselves alienated from the fellowship of God can now raise our discouraged heads and look up. Through the virtues of Christ’s atoning death the cause of our banishment has been removed. We may return as the Prodigal returned, and be welcome. As we approach the Garden, our home before the Fall, the flaming sword is withdrawn. The keepers of the tree of life stand aside when they see a son of grace approaching.”

“Return, O wanderer, now return,

and seek thy Father’s face;

Those new desires which in thee burn

Were kindled by His grace

Return, O wanderer, now return,

And wipe the falling tear:

Thy Father calls,- no longer mourn;

‘Tis love invites Thee near.”

-William Benco Collyer

-A.W. Tozer, The Knowledge of the Holy.

Holy Sonnet I

Thou hast made me, And shall thy worke decay?

Repaire me now, for now mine end doth haste,

I runne to death, and death meets me as fast,

And all my pleasures are like yesterday;

I dare not move my dimme eyes any way,

Despaire behind, and death before doth cast

Such terrour, and my feeble flesh doth waste

By sinne in it, which it t’wards hell doth weigh;

Onely thou art above, and when towards thee

By thy leave I can looke, I rise againe;

Bout our old subtle foe so tempteth me,

That not one houre my selfe I can sustain;

Thy Grace may wing me to prevent his art,

And thou like Adamant draw mine iron heart.

John Donne, Holy Sonnet I.

God’s Faithfulness

Happy the man whose hopes rely

On Israel’s God; He made the sky,

And earth, and seas, with all their train;

His truth forever stands secure;

He saves the oppressed, He feeds the poor,

And none shall find His promise vain.

– Isaac Watts