Classic Poem

When, Lord, I seeke to shew thy praises, then
Thy shining Majesty doth stund my minde,
Encramps my tongue and tongue ties fast my Pen,
That all my doings, do not what's designd.
My Speeche's Organs are so trancifide
My words stand startld, can't thy praises stride.

Nay Speeches Bloomery can't from the Ore
Of Reasons mine, melt words for to define
Thy Deity, nor t'deck the reechs that sore
From Loves rich Vales, sweeter than hony rhimes.
Words though the finest twine of reason, are
Too Course a web for Deity to ware.

Words Mentall are syllabicated thoughts:
Words Orall but thoughts Whiffld in the Winde.
Words Writ, are incky, Goose quill-slabbred draughts,
Although the fairest blossoms of the minde.
Then can such glasses cleare enough descry
My Love to thee, or thy rich Deity?

Words are befould, Thoughts filthy fumes that smoake,
From Smutty Huts, like Will-a-Wisps that rise
From Quaugmires, run ore bogs where frogs do Croake,
Lead all astray led by them by the eyes.
My muddy Words so dark thy Deity,
And cloude thy Sun-Shine, and its Shining Sky.

Yet spare mee, Lord, to use this hurden ware.
I have no finer Stuff to use, and I
Will use it now my Creed but to declare
And not thy Glorious Selfe to beautify.
Thou art all-God: all Godhead then is thine
Although the manhood there unto doth joyne.

Thou art all Godhead bright, although there bee
Something beside the Godhead in thee bright.
Thou art all Infinite although in thee
There is a nature pure, not infinite.
Thou art Almighty, though thy Humane tent
Of Humane frailty upon earth did sent.

He needs must be the Deity most High,
To whom all properties essensiall to
The Godhead do belong Essentially
And not to others: nor from Godhead go
And thou art thus, my Lord, to Godhead joynd.
We finde thee thus in Holy Writ definde.

Thou art Eternall; Infinite thou art;
Omnipotent, Omniscient, Erywhere,
All Holy, Just, Good, Gracious, True, in heart,
Immortal, though with mortall nature here.
Religious worship hence belongs to thee
From men and angells: all, of each degree.

Be thou my God, and make mee thine Elect
To kiss thy feet, and worship give to thee:
Accept of mee, and make mee thee accept.
So I'st be safe, and thou shalt served bee.
I'le bring thee praise, buskt up in Songs perfum'de,
When thou with grace my Soule hast sweetly tun'de.