(no subject)
O Holy Ghost, whose temple I Am, but of mud walls , and condensèd dust, And being sacrilegiously Half wasted with youth's fires of pride and lust, Must with new storms be weather-beat, Double in my heart Thy flame, Which let devout sad tears intend, and let -- Though this glass lanthorn, flesh, do suffer maim -- Fire, sacrifice, priest, altar be the same. John Donne (1572-1631)