I crawle, I creep; my Christ, I come To Thee, for curing Balsamum: Thou hast, nay more, Thou art the Tree, Affording salve of Soveraigntie. My mouth I'le lay unto Thy wound Bleeding, that no Blood touch the ground: For, rather then one drop shall fall To wast, my JESU, I'le take all.
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Other Poems of Interest...
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