Classic Poem

the soull from a sence of its unworthynese of the least mercy expostulateth with it self, for it discontent; because it has not greater mercys, yet gathers suport from the freenese of gods grace.

How darest thou my soull, thus to
aspire on high, & think
That god should great things, for thee doe
and to himself, thee link.

With shame, my soull, doe but look down
Upon thy guiltinese
Thou art unworthy, of his frown
much more, of neer accese.

The crumbs that from his table fall
thou art unworthy of
How darest thou to cry, & call
to be drench'd in his love.

That he should on thee, cast an eye
how canst thou it expect
Yet seekst thou in, his arms to lye
and their thy nest erect.

The leavings of his Children deer
ar, to good for thee to have
yet seekest thou, the chousest chear
and a full mese dost crave.

Thou art unworthy, for to look
that hee should on thee shine
Why sullen then, because not took
into his house of wine.

Thou art unworthy once to tast
how good, and sweet he is
Yet discontent, cause not imbrac'd
in those sweet arms of his.

Thou art unworthy, for to have
the least dram of true grace
yet nothing will content thee save
th' enjoyment of his face.

Thou art unworthy, to know that
in which all have interest
How darst thou seek, thosse intricate
things, hid within his breast.

Thou art unworthy once to spy
his glory, far off, yet
Thou wilt be nestling still so nigh
as to his throne to get.

If thou wert in the lowest hell
no wrong were done to thee
Yet, cause, thou canst not with him dwell
thou'lt discontented be.

Now art thou not asham'd, my soull
thus dayly, to aspire
And in thy thoughts, for to controle
him, whom thou shouldst admire.

Yet loth I am, to leave thee quite
without encouragment
Least thou shouldst think, out of his sight
and presence, thou art pent.

Let not thy sorow to high swell
God promises to teach
The humble soull, & in't to dwell
who dos it self impeach.

Though this be true; thou art the worst
of sinners & the cheif
yet grace is free, and that can burst
this bond, & give releife.

The more unworthy that thou art
the more free grace shall shine
When it shall gloriously, dart
On thee, by rays devine.

The grace of god, shall bear thee out
Whilst thou dost always creep
Neerer to him. & search about
for those things, which lye deep.

Then search my soull, and always crave
though thou shouldst dye, for why
Thou shalt att his feet make thy grave
and by his sweet hand dye.

This is the death, I would desire
if I must dy, endeed
That by the hand, whom I admire
I might both dye, and bleed.

Goe on my soull, now chearfully
thou knowst this cannot bee
The faithfulnese, of god doth ly
as pledg, and pawn, to thee.

That thosse that seek, and wait for him
they shall be satisfi'd
And filled up unto the brim
if constant they abide.