---

Walter Raleigh - His Pilgrimage
Work rating: Low

Give me my scallop-shell of quiet, 
   My staff of faith to walk upon, 
My scrip of joy, immortal diet, 
   My bottle of salvation, 
My gown of glory, hope`s true gage; 
And thus I`ll take my pilgrimage. 

Blood must be my body`s balmer; 
   No other balm will there be given: 
Whilst my soul, like quiet palmer, 
   Travelleth towards the land of heaven; 
Over the silver mountains, 
Where spring the nectar fountains; 
   There will I kiss 
   The bowl of bliss; 
And drink mine everlasting fill 
Upon every milken hill. 

Then by that happy blissful day,
   More peaceful pilgrims I shall see,
That have cast off their rags of clay,
   And walk apparelled fresh like me,
   I`ll take them first
   To quench their thirst
   At those clear wells
   Where sweetness dwells.

From thence to heaven`s bribeless hall
Where no corrupted voices brawl;
No conscience molten into gold,
No forged accuser bought or sold,
No cause deffered, no vain-spent journey,
For there Christ is the king`s Attorney,
Who pleads for all without degrees,
And He hath angels, but no fees.
And when the grand twelve-million jury 
Of our sins, with direful fury,
Against our souls black verdicts give,
Christ pleads his death, and then we live.
Source
The script ran 0.001 seconds.