Classic Poem

O how I long to be dissolv'd, and see
This mortal put on immortalitie!
Me thinks each day's a yeer, each year's an age
Till I arrive at that most glorious stage
Of heaven, where saints and martyrs gazing on,
Look if I tread the same steps they have gone;
But I, like Drake, so great a compasse take
About the world, such strange meanders make,
That they have got the goal in shorter space
Then I have been in running half my race.
So have I seen a christal streame to glide
In various windings by a meadowes side,
Making a thousand paces 'bout the shore,
Which in a strait line had not been twelve score.
O my deer God! cast down those banks of sin
That interrupt my soul from running in
An even channel to Thy sanctuary.
Ad wings unto my feet which soon may carry
Unto her ark my dove-like spirit, blest,
By being fixt i'th' center of all rest.