A Hymn to the Saints, and to Marquis Hamilton by John Donne

Whether that soul which now comes up to you / Fill any former rank, or make a new; / Whether it take a name named there before, / Or be a name itself and order more / Than was in heaven till now-for may not he / Be so, if every several angel be / A kind alone? whatever order grow / Greater by him in heaven, we do not so. / One of your orders grows by his access, / But, by his loss, grow all our orders less; / The name of father, master, friend, the name / Of subject and of prince, in one is lame; / Fair mirth is damp'd, and conversation black, / The Household widow'd, and the Garter slack; / The Chapel wants an ear, Council a tongue; / Story, a theme; and Music lacks a song. / Blest order that hath him, the loss of him / Gangrened all orders here; all lost a limb. / Never made body such haste to confess / What a soul was; all former comeliness / Fled, in a minute, when the soul was gone; / And, having lost that beauty, would have none. / So fell our monasteries, in an instant grown / Not to less houses, but to heaps of stone; / So sent his body that fair form it wore / Unto the sphere of forms, and doth-before / His soul shall fill up his sepulchral stone- / Anticipate a resurrection. / For, as in his fame now his soul is here, / So, in the form thereof, his body's there; / And if, fair soul, not with first Innocents / Thy station be, but with the Penitents, / -And who shall dare to ask then, when I am / Dyed scarlet in the blood of that pure Lamb, / Whether that colour, which is scarlet then, / Were black or white before in eyes of men? - / When thou rememb'rest what sins thou didst find / Amongst those many friends now left behind, / And seest such sinners, as they are, with thee / Got thither by repentance, let it be / Thy wish to wish all there, to wish them clean, / Wish him a David, her a Magdalen.