Classic Poem

With wasps and bees my busy bill
Sucks ill from good, and good from ill:
Humility makes my pride to grow,
And pride aspiring lays me low.

My standing does my fall procure,
My falling makes me stand more sure.
My poison does my physic prove,
My enmity provokes my love.

My poverty infers my wealth,
My sickness issues in my health.
My hardness tends to make me soft,
And killing things to cure me oft.

While high attainments cast me down,
My deep abasement raise me soon.
My best things oft have evil brood;
My worst things work my greatest good.

My inward foes, that me alarm,
Breed me much hurt, yet little harm.
I get no good by them, yet see
To my chief good they cause me flee.

They reach to me a deadly stroke,
To send to me a living Rock.
They made me long for Canaan's banks,
Yet sure I owe them little thanks.

I travel, yet stand firm and fast;
I run, but yet I make no haste.
I take a way both old and new,
Within my sight, yet out of view,

My way directs me in the way,
And will not suffer me to stray:
Though high and out of sight it be,
I'm in the way, the way's in me.

'Tis straight, yet full of heights and depths;
I keep the way, the way me keeps.
And being that to which I tend,
My very way's my journey's end.

When I'm in company I groan,
Because I then am most alone;
Yet, in my closet secrecy,
I'm joyful in my company,

I'm heard afar, without a noise;
I cry without a lifted voice:
Still moving in devotion's sphere,
Yet seldom steady persevere.

I'm heard when answered soon or late,
And heard when I no answer get;
Yea, kindly answer'd, when refus'd,
And friendly treat when harshly us'd.

My fervent pray'rs ne'er did prevail,
Nor e'er of prevalency fail.
I wrestle till my strength be spent,
Yet yield when strong recruits are sent.

I languish for my husband's charms,
Yet faint away when in his arms.
My sweetest health does sickness prove;
When love me heals, I'm sick of love.

I am most merry when most sad;
Most full of sorrow when I'm glad:
Most precious when I am most vile,
And most at home when in exile.

My base and honourable birth,
Excites my mourning and my mirth
I'm poor, yet stor'd with untold rent;
Most weak, and yet omnipotent.

On earth there's none so great and high,
Nor yet so low and mean as I;
None or so foolish, or so wise;
So often fall, so often rise.

I seeing him I never saw,
Serve without fear, and yet with awe.
Though love, when, perfect, fear remove;
Yet most I fear, when most I love.

All things are lawful unto me,
Yet many things unlawful be:
To some I perfect hatred bear,
Yet keep the law of love entire.

I'm bound to love my friends, but yet
I sin unless I do them hate:
I am oblig'd to hate my foes,
Yet bound to love and pray for those.

Heart-love to one I'm call'd t' impart,
Yet God still calls for all my heart.
I do him and his service both
By nature love, by nature lothe.