Verse by Lady Elizabeth Tyrwhit

I am the fruit of Adam’s hands.

Through sinne locked in Sathans bands:

Destined to death, the childe of ire,

A flaming brand of infernal fire.

Borne I was naked and bare,

And spend my time in sorrow and care:

And shall returne unto the dust,

And be deprived of carnal lust.

Yet thou Father didst Jesus send,

To pardon them that did offend.

We laude thee in the work of might,

That we be blessed in thy sight.

Lady Elizabeth Tyrwhit c1548-1582

EPITAPH FOR HERSELF by Catherine Killigrew

 

(A Version from Latin)

I sleep now with the Lord; in Him I’ll rise;

I’ll see my Saviour, as rising from the dead.

One part of me is flourishing though one part dies;

In time I’ll live, with Christ to be my Head.

(?1542-1583)

Ettrick Valley, Scottish Borders

MARTHA by Martha Moulsworth Widdowe

 

My name was Martha, Martha took much pain

Our Saviour Christ her guest to entertain;

God give me grace my inward house to dight                                    (

That He with me may sup, and stay the night.

(Dight is "made ready"

Martha Moulsworth Widdowe (1577-after 1632)

see https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Martha_Moulsworth

Tushielaw Inn Welcome

Around Tushielaw Inn, Ettrick Valley, Scottish Borders 

DIVINE SONNET by William Alabaster

 

Jesu, thy love within me is so main,

And my poor heart so narrow of content,

That with thy love my heart wellnigh is rent,

And yet I love to bear such loving pain.

O take thy cross and nails and therewith strain

My heart’s desire unto his full extent,

That thy dear love may not therein be pent,

But thoughts may have free scope thy love to explain.

O now my heart more paineth than before,

Because it can receive and hath no more,

O fill this emptiness or else I die,

Now stretch my heart again and now supply,

Now I want space, now grace. To end this smart,

Since my heart holds not thee, hold thou my heart.

JESUS IS BORN by William Alabaster

Jesus is born. Peace, such high words forbear,
Which only angel’s mouth deserves to unfold.
Then let them speak these mysteries enrolled.
At me, they must be sung of that sweet choir.
Then let mine ears that blessed carol hear.
No, only holy shepherds be so bold.
With joy then let them hear this uncontrolled.
Nor do, for holy shepherds hear with fear.
Ay me, that am unworthy him to name,
Yet none so worthy to be named as he,
Ay me, unworthy for to hear the same,
Yet nothing so deserveth heard to be.
What then? Compare both these, his worth, my scorn;
His far weigheth down: Jesus is born.

William Alabaster (1567-1640)

Selkirk and Area