by John Donne (1572 - 1631)
At the round earth's imagin'd corners See original
Language: English
At the round earth's imagined corners, blow Your trumpets, angels, and arise From death, you numberless infinities Of souls, and to your scattered bodies go, All whom the flood did, and fire shall o'erthrow All whom war, death, age, agues, tyrannies, Despair, law, chance hath slain; and you whose eyes Shall behold God and never taste death's woe, But let them sleep, Lord, and me mourn a space, For, if above all these my sins abound, 'Tis late to ask abundance of Thy grace, When we are there. Here on this lowly ground, Teach me how to repent, for that's as good As if Thoud'st seal'd my pardon with Thy blood.
Composition:
- Set to music by (Edward) Benjamin Britten (1913 - 1976), "At the round earth's imagin'd corners", op. 35 no. 7 (1945), published c1946 [ high voice and piano ], from The Holy Sonnets of John Donne, no. 7
Text Authorship:
- by John Donne (1572 - 1631), no title, appears in Holy Sonnets, no. 7
See other settings of this text.
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , copyright © 2011, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- GER German (Deutsch) (Daniel Johannsen) , copyright © 2020, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 14
Word count: 112