Tuesday, 29 November 2016


Methinks I see with what a busy haste
Zaccheus climbed the tree. But, O how fast
How full of speed, canst thou imagine (when
Our Saviour called) he powdered down again!
He ne’er made trial if the boughs were sound,
Or rotten; nor how far 'twas to the ground.
There was no danger feared. At such a call
He’ll venture nothing, that dare fear a fall.
Needs must he down, by such a spirit driven;
Nor could he fall, unless he fell to Heaven.
Down came Zaccheus, ravished from the tree;
Bird that was shot, ne’er dropped so quick as he. 

Francis Quarles (1592-1644)

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