OFT have I calm'd Misfortunes Deep, And sung my storming Greifs asleep: But now the Tempests Roar is swelld Too high to Muse's Voice to yeild: Or yf it bowes to any Verse, It must be that wch shall befriend my Herse. 2 Alas, my Sorrows were no more Then could be scanned heertofore! But Measures now & Numbers be Themselves no longer unto Me; Nor can their terminated Might Deal with those Torments which are Infinite. 3 The Soule of this Complaint, to none Is known, deer Lord, but Thee alone: Thou seest how lamentable I In a strange Hell of Sweetness frie: Thou se'st my Heart & Me all rent Upon a Rack of Torturing Content. 4 Not all this World could hire Me to Flie from this delectable Woe. Yet yf thy Pleasure be to ease My deer & pretious Miseries; Do, mighty Lord; thy Will is best I yeild, & will endure to be at Rest. 5 I think I yeild: O Jesu trie The bottome of thy Victory: O search, & sift this heart, & see It cheats not Me, nor injur's Thee. O yf it bends not, break it quite: That Heart is soundest, wch is most Contrite. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LOVER PLEADS WITH HIS FRIENDS FOR OLD FRIENDS by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS THOUGHTS WHILE PACKING A TRUNK by CHRISTOPHER DARLINGTON MORLEY THE THORN by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH THE ARGONAUTS (ARGONATUICA): EROS AND HIS MOTHER by APOLLONIUS RHODIUS SPANISH WINGS: SENORITA by H. BABCOCK THE FARMER'S SOLILOQUY by ROBERT CHARLES O'HARA BENJAMIN MY PRAYER by CHARLOTTE LOUISE BERTLESEN |