The speaker confronts his own soul as if it’s a criminal facing a death sentence. Sickness has arrived like a herald announcing that death is near, and he feels utterly exposed. He compares his soul to a traitor too ashamed to return home, or a prisoner who dreads execution so much he’d rather rot in his cell. The mood is tight with panic—every image suggests a frantic wish to hide. But halfway through, the terror cracks open. He realizes grace is possible through repentance, though he can’t even begin without God’s help. The poem pivots on that helplessness, then pushes toward a fierce, almost physical yearning to be cleansed. The final image is stark and hopeful: Christ’s blood can dye his red, sin-stained soul completely white.
Holy Sonnet IV: Oh My Black Soul! Now Art Thou Summoned — Summary
Oh my black soul! now art thou summoned By sickness, death's herald, and champion; Thou art like a pilgrim, which abroad hath done Treason, and durst not turn to whence he is fled; Or like a thief, which till death's doom be read, Wisheth himself delivered from prison, But damned and haled to execution, Wisheth that still he might be imprisoned. Yet grace, if thou repent, thou canst not lack; But who shall give thee that grace to begin? Oh make thy self with holy mourning black, And red with blushing, as thou art with sin; Or wash thee in Christ's blood, which hath this might That being red, it dyes red souls to white