Things present shrink and die : but they that spend

Their thoughts and sense
On future grief, do not remove it thence,

But it extend,
And draw the bottom out an end.

God chains the dog till night: wilt loose the chain,

And wake thy sorrow ?
Wilt thou forestall it, and now grieve to-morrow,

And then again
Grieve over freshly all thy pain?

Either grief will not come: or if it must,

Do not forecast:
And while it cometh, it is almost past.

Away distrust :
My God hath promised; he is just.


King of glory, King of peace,

I will love thee :
And that love may never cease,

I will move thee.

Thou hast granted my request,

Thou hast heard me :
Thou didst note my working breast,

Thou hast spared me.

Wherefore with my utmost art

I will sing thee,

And the cream of all my

I will bring thee.

Though my sins against me cried,

Thou didst clear me;
And alone, when they replied,

Thou didst hear me.

Seven whole days, not one in seven,

I will praise thee.
In my heart, though not in Heaven,

I can raise thee.

Thou grew'st soft and moist with tears,

Thou relentedst :
And when Justice call'd for fears,

Thou dissentedst.

Small it is, in this poor sort

To enrol thee :
E’en eternity is too short

To extol thee.


Come, bring thy gift. If blessings were as slow
As men's returns, what would become of fools ?
What hast thou there? a heart ? but is it pure ?
Search well and see; for hearts have many holes.
Yet one pure heart is nothing to bestow :
In Christ two natures met to be thy cure.

O that within us hearts had propagation,
Since many gifts do challenge many hearts !
Yet one, if good, may title to a number;
And single things grow fruitful by deserts.
In public judgments one may be a nation,
And fence a plague, while others sleep and slumber.

But all I fear is, lest thy heart displease,
As neither good, nor one : so oft divisions
Thy lusts have made, and not thy lusts alone;
Thy passions also have their set partitions.
These parcel out thy heart: recover these,
And thou mayst offer many gifts in one.

There is a balsam, or indeed a blood,

[close Dropping from heaven, which doth both cleanse and All sorts of wounds; of such strange force it is. Seek out this All-heal, and seek no repose, Until thou find, and use it to thy good : Then bring thy gift ; and let thy hymn be this ;

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Yet thy favour

May give savour
To this poor oblation ;

And it raise

To be thy praise,
And be my salvation.


With sick and famish'd eyes, With doubling knees and weary bones,

To thee my cries,

To thee my groans, To thee my sighs, my tears ascend :

No end?

My throat, my soul is hoarse ; My heart is wither'd like a ground

Which thou dost curse.

My thoughts turn round, And make me giddy; Lord, I fall,

Yet call.

From thee all pity flows. Mothers are kind, because thou art,

And dost dispose

To them a part: Their infants, them; and they suck thee

More free.

Bowels of pity, hear !
Lord of my soul, love of my mind,

Bow down thine ear !

Let not the wind Scatter my words, and in the same

Thy name !

Look on my sorrows round ! Mark well my furnace ! O what flames,

What heats abound !

What griefs, what shames ! Consider, Lord; Lord, bow thine ear,

And hear !

Lord Jesu, thou didst bow Thy dying head upon the tree:

O be not now

More dead to me!
Lord, hear! Shall he that made the ear

Not hear?

Behold, thy dust doth stir; It moves, it


it aims at thee :
Wilt thou defer

To succour me,
Thy pile of dust, wherein each crumb

Says, Come?

To thee help appertains. Hast thou left all things to their course,

And laid the reins

Upon the horse ?
Is all lock'd ? hath a sinner's plea

No key?

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