The Sinner
Lord, how I am all ague, when I seek What I have treasur’d in my memory! Since, if my soul make even with the week, Each seventh note by right is due to thee.
Aaron
Holiness on the head, Light and perfection on the breast, Harmonious bells below, raising the dead To led them unto life and rest. Thus are true Aarons dressed. Profaneness in my head, Defects and
The Altar
A broken ALTAR, Lord, thy servant rears, Made of a heart and cemented with tears; Whose parts are as thy hand did frame; No workman’s tool hath touch’d the same. A HEART alone Is
Grief
O who will give me tears? Come, all ye springs, Dwell in my head and eyes; come, clouds And rain; My grief hath need of all the watery things That nature hath produced: let
Affliction (II)
Kill me not ev’ry day, Thou Lord of life, since thy one death for me Is more than all my deaths can be, Though I in broken pay Die over each hour of Methusalem’s
A Dialogue-Anthem
Alas, poor Death! Where is thy glory? Where is thy famous force, thy ancient sting? Alas, poor mortal, void of story! Go spell and read how I have killed thy King. Poor Death! And
The Quip
The merry world did on a day With his train-bands and mates agree To meet together where I lay, And all in sport to jeer at me. First, Beauty crept into a rose, Which
Affliction (III)
My heart did heave, and there came forth, ‘O God’! By that I knew that thou wast in the grief, To guide and govern it to my relief, Making a sceptre of the rod:
The Storm
If as the winds and waters here below Do fly and flow, My sighs and tears as busy were above; Sure they would move And much affect thee, as tempestuous times Amaze poor mortals,
Faith
Lord, how couldst thou so much appease Thy wrath for sin, as when man’s sight was dim, And could see little, to regard his ease, And bring by Faith all things to him? Hungry
The Agony
Philosophers have measur’d mountains, Fathom’d the depths of the seas, of states, and kings, Walk’d with a staff to heav’n, and traced fountains: But there are two vast, spacious things, The which to measure
Easter Song
I Got me flowers to straw Thy way, I got me boughs off many a tree; But Thou wast up by break of day, And brought’st Thy sweets along with Thee. The sunne arising
The H. Scriptures I
Oh Book! infinite sweetness! let my heart Suck ev’ry letter, and a honey gain, Precious for any grief in any part; To clear the breast, to mollify all pain. Thou art all health, health
Church Monuments
While that my soul repairs to her devotion, Here I intomb my flesh, that it betimes May take acquaintance of this heap of dust; To which the blast of death’s incessant motion, Fed with
The Elixir
Teach me, my God and King, In all things Thee to see, And what I do in anything To do it as for Thee. Not rudely, as a beast, To run into an action;