V. Barnaby Barnes

LYON of Judah! which dost judge, and fight

With endlesse justice; whose anointed head

Was once with wounding thornes invironed,

But now with sacred crownes, by glorious right;

Whose glorious hoast succeedes in armour white;

Before whose face so many millions fled,

And whose imperiall name no man could read;

Illuminate my thoughts with the beames bright

Of that white, powrefull, and celestiall Dove:

Kindle my spirit with that sacred heate

Which me may ravish with an heavenly love;

Whilst I thy ceaselesse graces doe repeate,

Downe pourde in full aboundance to mankind,

Which comfort in my soul, poore wretch! I find.