Salvation to all that will is nigh,
That all, which always is all everywhere,
Which cannot sin, and yet all sins must bear,
Which cannot die, yet cannot choose but die,
Lo, faithful Virgin, yields himself to lie
In prison, in thy womb; and though he there
Can take no sin, nor thou give, yet he ‘will wear
Taken from thence, flesh, which death’s force may try.
Ere by the spheres time was created, thou
Wast in his mind, who is thy son, and brother,
Whom thou conceiv’st, conceived; yea thou art now
Thy maker’s maker, and thy father’s mother,
Thou’ hast light in dark; and shutt’st in little room,
Immensity cloistered in the dear womb.
Selection take from: John Donne: A Critical Edition of the Major Works, edited by John Carey; Oxford: OUP, 1990