Classic Poem

None but Christ

thers none but Christ, thers none but Christ
can fill my empty soull
Oh that I could, with speed, and hast
run to this blessed goal,

I count all things, but lose, & dung
for thee my saviour deer
Who for me, on the crose, was hung
there did thy love apear.

Ten thousand-worlds cant satisfie,
my soull that's on thee bent
Except with love, thou cast an eye
I cannot be content.

Thou art the sweet, shade of a rock,
in this hard, weary, land.
Tis thou must save me from the strock
of devine Justise's hand,

Tis thou oh Christ, must be my skreen
(whose love runs full, and free.)
Tis thou alone, must stand between
thy fathers, wrath & me,

Let all created glorys blush
before this spleanded sun
Let earthly potentats be hush
Hee'l shine, when you ar gone.

Christ is the fairest sweetest rose
That grows in paradise
His sweetnese I will still apose
to earthly fragrancys.

Thou art my rock, and my strong hold
my refuge, nigh att hand
Thy arms, my soull, shall still enfold
thy love, shall comprehand.

My soull reaches out after thee
and cannot, be content
Untill with thee, it come to be
it swells, & finds noe vent.

It is a sweeter communion
and neerer intercourse
Between my soull, & Christ alone
that I would fain, enforce.

I could (I think) now part with all
Leaving what I have here
To follow thee home, att thy call
thou art to me, most dear.

None but thy self. none but thy self
Shall give content to me
I'le not be put off, with earths pelf
I must have more from thee.

Then from thy great abundant store
and overflowing grace
Let me be fil'd still more, & more
till I shall see thy face.

Thine absence is a hell to me
whilst I doe soujourn here
Thy presence, grace, and favour free
Brings heavens joy, & chear.

This is my motto, none but Christ
whether I live, or dye
Hoping I shall with sayls up hoyst
hast in thine armes to lye.

Shouldst thou say, here:s heaven for thee
that fair, & spacyous land
Take it to thee, in steed of me
I'de turn it on thine hand.

I find desires boundlese to grow
Wilt thou not satisfie
Thou knowest I cant sit down below
enjoyment queitly.

I cannot live upon desire
and breathings after more
Whilst att perfection I aspire
To thee fain would I soare.

Thy love I cannot comprehand
let it comprehand me
And let mee come, to understand
the depthes that in it bee.