The Cross by John Donne (1633)

Name: The Cross
Author: John Donne

The speaker asks whether he may refuse to bear the cross's image when Christ himself embraced the actual cross, and whether he may despise the very altar from which he profits by the sacrifice. The cross bore all other sins, he argues, so it should not also have to bear the sin of being scorned. Anyone who would turn away from its picture would surely also flee the pains of the one who died on it. The speaker declares that no pulpit, no misapplied law, and no scandal taken will make him abandon the cross; he insists it cannot withdraw him, because losing the cross would itself become another cross to him. He reasons that it is better to have any affliction than none at all, since no cross is as extreme as having no cross whatsoever. He asks who could blot out the cross that God's instrument placed dew-like upon him in the Sacrament, and who could deny him the power and liberty to stretch out his own arms and become his own cross. He then finds crosses everywhere in nature and ordinary action: a swimmer forms a cross at every stroke; a ship's mast and yard form one where seas toss it; looking down, one spies crosses in small things; looking up, one sees birds held aloft on crossed wings; the entire frame of the globe and the spheres is nothing but meridians crossing parallels. The speaker distinguishes material crosses, which he calls good medicine, from spiritual crosses, which hold the chief dignity, comparing the latter to a refined chemical medicine that both cures and preserves better. He tells the reader that one becomes one's own physic, or needs none, when stilled or purged by tribulation, for when a cross is accepted ungrudgingly, one becomes to oneself a crucifix. He compares this to carvers who do not make faces so much as remove what hides them; likewise crosses take away what hides Christ within a person, letting one become His image, or not merely His image but He himself. He warns, however, that just as alchemists sometimes prove to be mere coiners, self-despising can breed self-love, and as the worst surfeits come from the best meats, pride can issue from humility — a monstrous outcome rather than a rightful child. He therefore urges the reader to cross his own joy in crosses, lest that joy become a double loss, and to cross his senses, lest both senses and self perish and bow to destruction. If the eye seeks only good objects and refuses any cross from bad ones, he warns, one cannot escape a snake; the same discipline should apply to harsh, hard, sour, and stinking things, making all sensations indifferent and calling nothing best. The eye especially needs crossing, since it alone can roam and move, while other senses must wait for objects to come to them. He extends this to the heart, which alone in man pants downward and feels palpitation, urging the reader to cross its dejections when it sinks and its presumptions when it reaches toward forbidden heights. He notes that the brain vents through the skull's bony walls by sutures that form the shape of a cross, and so, before uttering what the brain produces, one should cross and correct the concupiscence of wit. He counsels the reader to be covetous of crosses, letting none fall, and to cross no one else but oneself in all things. He concludes that the cross of Christ works faithfully within human hearts when people love harmlessly the pictured crosses and, with even more care, love the cross's children — meaning the crosses that belong to each person's own life.

By John Donne · First published 1633 · Genre: Metaphysical Poetry, Religious Poetry, Devotional Poetry · 814 words

First lines

Since Christ embraced the cross itself, dare I / His image, th' image of His cross, deny? / Would I have profit by the sacrifice, / And dare the chosen altar to despise? / It bore all other sins, but is it fit / That it should bear the sin of scorning it? / Who from the picture would avert his eye, / How would he fly his pains who there did die? / From me no pulpit, nor misgrounded law, / Nor scandal taken, shall this cross withdraw, / It shall not, for it cannot; for the loss / Of this cross were to me another cross. / Better were worse, for no affliction, / No cross is so extreme, as to have none. / Who can blot out the cross, which th' instrument / Of God dew'd on me in the Sacrament? / Who can deny me power, and liberty / To stretch mine arms, and mine own cross to be? / Swim, and at every stroke thou art thy cross; / The mast and yard make one, where seas do toss; / Look down, thou spiest out crosses in small things; / Look up, thou seest birds raised on crossed wings; / All the globe's frame, and spheres, is nothing else / But the meridians crossing parallels. / Material crosses then good physic be, / But yet spiritual have chief dignity. / These for extracted chemic medicine serve, / And cure much better, and as well preserve. / Then are you your own physic, or need none, / When still'd or purged by tribulation; / For when that cross ungrudged unto you sticks, / Then are you to yourself a crucifix. / As perchance carvers do not faces make, / But that away, which hid them there, do take; / Let crosses, so, take what hid Christ in thee, / And be His image, or not His, but He. / But, as oft alchemists do coiners prove, / So may a self-despising get self-love; / And then, as worst surfeits of best meats be, / So is pride, issued from humility, / For 'tis no child, but monster; therefore cross / Your joy in crosses, else 'tis double loss. / And cross thy senses, else both they and thou / Must perish soon, and to destruction bow. / For if the eye seek good objects, and will take / No cross from bad, we cannot 'scape a snake. / So with harsh, hard, sour, stinking; cross the rest; / Make them indifferent; call, nothing best. / But most the eye needs crossing, that can roam, / And move; to th' others th' objects must come home. / And cross thy heart; for that in man alone / Pants downwards, and hath palpitation. / Cross those dejections, when it downward tends, / And when it to forbidden heights pretends. / And as the brain through bony walls doth vent / By sutures, which a cross's form present, / So when thy brain works, ere thou utter it, / Cross and correct concupiscence of wit. / Be covetous of crosses; let none fall; / Cross no man else, but cross thyself in all. / Then doth the cross of Christ work faithfully / Within our hearts, when we love harmlessly / The cross's pictures much, and with more care / That cross's children, which our crosses are.

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The Cross is listed on Textopian as a poem by John Donne, dated 1633 CE.

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Work type: Poem
Author: John Donne
Date: 1633 CE
Language: English
Genres: Metaphysical Poetry, Religious Poetry, Devotional Poetry, Theological Poetry, Didactic Poetry
Length: 814 words
Structure: 1 section, 1 paragraphs
Reading fit: Fairly Easy (7th Grade)

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Genres

Metaphysical Poetry — Donne's signature style employs elaborate conceits and intellectual wit to unite spiritual and material imagery—swimming strokes, ship masts, bird wings, and geographical meridians all become crosses—exemplifying metaphysical poetry's yoking of dissimilar ideas.
Religious Poetry — The poem is fundamentally grounded in Christian theology and symbolism, centering on the cross as the instrument of Christ's sacrifice and redemption, with explicit references to Sacrament and divine transformation.
Devotional Poetry — The poem functions as a spiritual meditation and exhortation, addressing the reader directly to embrace suffering and self-mortification as a path toward union with Christ and spiritual perfection.
Theological Poetry — The work engages explicitly with doctrinal concepts including redemption, sacrifice, grace, the Sacrament, and the mystical transformation of the individual into the image of Christ.