So I may learn to do no more amiss,
Nor sin again :

Correct me, if thou wilt; but teach me then,
What I shall do.

Lord of my life, methinks I heard thee say,
That labour's eased:

The fault, that is confess'd, is done away,
And thou art pleased.

How can I sin again, and wrong thee then,
That dost relent,

And cease thine anger straight, as soon as men
Do but repent?

No, rebel thought; for if thou move again,
I'll tell that too.

WHITHER, oh! whither is my Lord departed? What can my love, that is so tender-hearted, Forsake the soul, which once he thorough darted, As if it never smarted?

No, sure my love is here, if I could find him : He that fills all can leave no place behind him. But oh my senses are too weak to wind him: Or else I do not mind him.

O no, I mind him not so as I ought;
Nor seek him so as I by him was sought,
When I had lost myself: he dearly bought
Me, that was sold for nought.

But I have wounded him, that made me sound;
Lost him again, by whom I first was found:
Him, that exalted me, have cast to the ground;
My sins his blood have drown'd.

Tell me, oh! tell me, (thou alone canst tell) Lord of my life, where thou art gone to dwell : For, in thy absence heaven itself is hell:

Without thee none is well.

Or, if thou beest not gone, but only hidest
Thy presence in the place where thou abidest,
Teach me the sacred art, which thou providest
For all them, whom thou guidest,

To seek and find thee by. Else here I'll lie,
Until thou find me. If thou let me die,
That only unto thee for life do cry,
Thou diest as well as I.

For, if thou live in me, and I in thee,
Then either both alive, or dead must be :
At least I'll lay my death on thee, and see
If thou wilt not agree.

For, though thou be the Judge thyself, I have Thy promise for it, which thou canst not wave, That who salvation at thine hands do crave, Thou wilt not fail to save.

Oh! seek, and find me then; or else deny
Thy truth, thyself. Oh! thou that canst not lie,
Show thyself constant to thy word, draw nigh.
Find me. Lo, here I lie.

Thanks, blessed Lord, thine absence was my hell; And, now thou art returned, I am well.

By this I see I must

Not trust

My joys unto myself:

This shelf,

Of too secure, and too presumptuous pleasure, Had almost sunk my ship, and drown'd my treasure.

Who would have thought a joy

So coy

To be offended so,

And go

So suddenly away? As if enjoying

Full pleasure and contentment, were annoying,

Hereafter I had need

Take heed.

Joys, amongst other things,
Have wings,

And watch their opportunities of flight,
Converting in a moment day to night.

But, is't enough for me

To be

Instructed to be wise?
I'll rise,

And read a lecture unto them that are

Willing to learn, how comfort dwells with care.

He that his joys would keep

Must weep;

And in the brine of tears

And fears

Must pickle them. That powder will preserve: Faith with repentance is the soul's conserve.

Learn to make much of care:

A rare

And precious balsam 'tis

For bliss;

Which oft resides, where mirth with sorrow meets: Heavenly joys on earth are bitter-sweets.