Holy Sonnets/Holy Sonnet 13

What if this present were the world's last night? Mark in my heart, O soul, where thou dost dwell, The picture of Christ crucified, and tell Whether His countenance can thee affright. Tears in His eyes quench the amazing light; Blood fills his frowns, which from His pierced head fell; And can that tongue adjudge thee unto hell, Which pray'd forgiveness for His foes' fierce spite? No, no ; but as in my idolatry I said to all my profane mistresses, Beauty of pity, foulness only is A sign of rigour ; so I say to thee, To wicked spirits are horrid shapes assign'd; This beauteous form assures a piteous mind.