Classic and Contemporary Poetry
SUBMISSION, by JOSEPH BEAUMONT First Line: Oft has my prostrate soule to thee Last Line: My troubled will, is, to deny it. Subject(s): Humility; Prayer | ||||||||
OFT has my prostrate Soule to Thee Great Lord of Love, commended this DESIGNE Whose restless importunitie Burns in this Heart of mine And at thy gracious Feet full low It & my Self, again I throw. 2 Thou se'st how many pretious Houres Of my short Time it spends: Thou seest how It reigns in all my Thoughts, & pours Storms of Disquiet through My deerest Meditations, which Fain at thy Heavn & Thee would reach. 3 Most bitter-sweet DESIGNE which hants My Bosome with such Tyrannous Delight, That though my Hearts Indeavour pants To flie this tedious Night Of gloomy & uncertain Hope, Still in these doubtfull Mists I grope. 4 Oft have I thought, that I had drawn Neer unto Quiets blessed Shore; but strait By flattering Fancy I was thrown Into some new Deceit: Still-joying to Sail in this Sea Which shipwrackd all my Joies, & Me. 5 And thus deliciously perplext, Close in my Breast I huggd my sweet Distress; Which, though it always knawd & vext With pleasing Restlesness, I durst not turn my Foe away Whoe me so daintily did slay. 6 My Wounds to any tender Ey I durst not shew, nor gain a Freinds releif: I durst not mine own Help supply To cure ev'n mine own Greif: I unwishd mine own Wishes, and With one beat down my other Hand. 7 A thousand times my Thoughts I chode, And then as oft those Chideings did recant: Against my Self I boldly stood, And when I firmly ment This Side should Victor be, the other Soon trampled down his dareing Brother. 8 Did any Riddle e'r present So valiant a Coward, as poor I; Who by the Wings of strange Consent Pursue ev'n what I fly: Whoe hate these anxious Thoughts, yet am So mad to Think none else but them. 9 O mighty LORD of GOODNES, my Most aenigmatik Greif appeals to Thee: Use, Use thine own Authority Both upon it, & Me. No more will I own this DESIGNE Unless it may comply with Thine. 10 Pure Sweets dwell in thy Will alone, But mine, when sweetest, with rank Gall doth flow: O then, may Thine, may Thine be done, Though mine it overthrow! The onely way I have to quiet My troubled Will, is, to Deny it. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...UNHOLY SONNET 11 by MARK JARMAN LISTEN, LORD: A PRAYER by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON A PRAYER FOR THE FUTURE by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) DIFFERENT WAYS TO PRAY by NAOMI SHIHAB NYE PRAYER DURING A TIME MY SON IS HAVING SEIZURES by SHARON OLDS WE WHO PRAYED AND WEPT by WENDELL BERRY PRAYERS AND SAYINGS OF THE MAD FARMER by WENDELL BERRY Γενεθλιακον by JOSEPH BEAUMONT Γενεθλιακον by JOSEPH BEAUMONT A CONCLUSORIE HUMNE TO THE SAME WEEK; & FOR MY FRIEND by JOSEPH BEAUMONT |
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