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| OH 1 why should man, that bears the stamp of heauen, | |
| So much abase heauen’s holy will and pleasure? | |
| Or why was sence and reason to him giuen, | |
| That in his sinne cannot containe a measure, | |
| But still neglects his soule’s celestiall treasure? | 5 |
| He knowes he must account for euery sinne, | |
| And yet committeth sins that countless bin. | |
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| This to peruse, deare God, doth kill my soule, | |
| But that thy mercie quickeneth it againe: | |
| Oh heare me, Lorde, in bitternesse of dole, | 10 |
| That of my sinnes do prostrate heere complaine, | |
| And for the same poure forth my teares amaine, | |
| And at thy feete with Marie knock for grace, | |
| Though wanting Marie’s teares to wet my face. | |
| |
| She, happy sinner, saw her life misse-led, | 15 |
| At sight whereof her inward heart did bleede; | |
| To witnesse with her outward teares were shed: | |
| Oh blessed saint, and oh most blessed deed! | |
| For on the teares of sinners angels feede. | |
| But wretched I, that see more teares than shee, | 20 |
| Nor grieue within, nor yet weepe outwardly. | |
| |
| When she had lost thy presence but one day, | |
| The want was such her hart could not sustaine; | |
| But to thy tombe alone she tooke her waie, | |
| And there with mournfull sighes she did complaine, | 25 |
| And down her face teares trickled like the raine. | |
| Nor from her sence once stird or moued was she, | |
| Vntill againe she got a sight of thee. | |
| |
| But I haue lost thy presence all my daies, | |
| And still am slacke to seeke thee as I should; | 30 |
| My wretched soule in wicked sinne so stayes, | |
| I am vnmeet to seeke thee, though I would; | |
| I haue so strayed from thee in by-waies. | |
| Yet if I could with teares thy comming tend, | |
| I know I should, as she, finde thee my friend. | 35 |
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| No, no! the secret Searcher of all harts | |
| Both sees and knowes the deeds that I haue done; | |
| And for each deed will pay me home with smarts: | |
| No shew can shaddow what I haue misdone, | |
| No place can serue his will decreed to shunne. | 40 |
| I should deceiue myselfe to think that he | |
| For sinne would punish others, and not me. | |
| |
| Our first-borne sire, first breeder of man’s thrall, | |
| For one bare sinne was of perfection reft; | |
| And all mankinde was banisht by his fall | 45 |
| From paradice, and vnto sorrowe left, | |
| And former comfort was from him bereft. | |
| If he for one, and all for him feele paine, | |
| Then for so many what shall I sustaine? | |
| |
| The angels, made to attend on God in glory, | 50 |
| Were thrust from heauen, and onely for one sinne, | |
| That but in thought, (for so records the story,) | |
| For which they still in lasting darkenesse bin, | |
| And cannot sunne’s bright shining comfort win. | |
| If these once glorious thus tormented be, | 55 |
| I, poor lost sheepe, what will become of me? | |
| |
| What will become of me, that not in thought, | |
| In thought alone, but in each word and deede | |
| A thousand thousand deadly sinnes haue wrought, | |
| And still do worke, whereat my hart doth bleed, | 60 |
| Being by sinne out of the right way led? | |
| Which makes me thus bewaile, lament, and grieue; | |
| For griefe and sorrow must my cares relieue. * * * * * | |
| From the green pastures, mounts, and meades, | |
| And from the cristall current of heauen’s ioies, | 65 |
| The woolfe hath cast me, and foule errour leades | |
| My soone seduced steps to such annoies, | |
| That where I feed my staruing food destroies. | |
| Seeke me, deere Shepherd; else I shall be lost, | |
| From blessed vales to thornes and thistles tost. | 70 |
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| Oh seeke me, Christ, as once thy mercie sought | |
| Downe-falling Dauid from thy mountaine’s lawes; | |
| Oh seeke thine own, thine own whom thou hast bought, | |
| And keepe me from the draggon’s open iawes, | |
| Where sinne betraies for euerie slender cause. | 75 |
| For from the treasure of thy sacred side | |
| Thou paidst the ransome of accursed pride. | |
| |
| With shame-sick Adam haue I hid my head, | |
| Vnparadiz’d from my angell-like state, | |
| And from the presence of thy Father fled, | 80 |
| My soule sepultur’d in my bodie’s hate. | |
| My heape of sinnes hath bard that blessed gate | |
| Was op’ned wide by that deep sluce was made | |
| Within that wound, where mercie’s balm was laid. | |
| |
| Paine-pearced Shepheard, master of that fold, | 85 |
| Old Israell brought into thy spatious field; | |
| For which thy selfe thy glorious selfe hath sold, | |
| Making a dearth such store of manna yeeld, | |
| With which the parcht and desart plaines were fild; | |
| That where thy lambs from sweet repast were driuen, | 90 |
| They banket with celestiall food from heauen. | |
| |
| Thou drankest freting vinegar with gall, | |
| To make their bitter waters hunny-sweete; | |
| That spungy moysture, that in deadly thrall | |
| For thy pale lips the sonnes of men thought meete: | 95 |
| From such a holy Shepheard who would fleete? | |
| None but myselfe, who, hauing lost my marke, | |
| Wander alone in shame’s despised darke. | |
| |
| Behold my feete intangled in the bryers, | |
| And enuious brambles teare my fleece away: | 100 |
| To loose them, Lord, my gasping soule desires, | |
| Least to the rauens I become a praie: | |
| Such fruit they reape that runne so farre astraie. | |
| Then on thy shoulders take me to thy folde, | |
| The sheep whom thou hast bought, and Sathan solde. | 105 |
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| Fiue tallents didst thou paie, whereon was fram’d | |
| The seale of death, imprest with crimson bloud; | |
| Two in thy hands, two in thy feete remainde, | |
| One in thy side. These bought that heauenly food, | |
| That feeds the soule with his eternall good. | 110 |
| Oh bring me then, sweet Christ, where I may feed | |
| On that for which I sigh, and thou didst bleed! | |
