Good and great God, can I not think of Thee, But it must straight my melancholy be? Is it interpreted in me disease, That, laden with my sins, I seek for ease? O, be Thou witness, that the reins dost know And hearts of all, if I be sad for show; And judge me after, if I dare pretend To aught but grace, or aim at other end. As Thou art all, so be Thou all to me, First, midst, and last, converted One and Three; My faith, my hope, my love; and in this state, My judge, my witness, and my advocate. Where have I been this while exiled from Thee? And whither rap'd, now Thou but stoop'st to me? Dwell, dwell here still! O, being everywhere, How can I doubt to find Thee ever here? I know my state, both full of shame and scorn, Conceived in sin, and unto labor born, Standing with fear, and must with horror fall, And destined unto judgment, after all. I feel my griefs too, and there scarce is ground Upon my flesh t'inflict another wound. Yet dare I not complain or wish for death With holy Paul, lest it be thought the breath Of discontent; or that these prayers be For weariness of life, not love of Thee. |