Good Friday - Poem by John Donne

Let man’s soule be a spheare, and then in this The intelligence that moves devotion is; And as the other spheares by being growne Subject to forraigne motion lose their owne, And being by others hurried every day, Scarce in a yeare their naturall forme obey : Pleasure or businesse, so our soules admit For their first mover, and are whirled by it. Hence is’t that I am carryed toward the…
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