Classic Poem

The soull gathering some releif from experience, though clouded, & far from what it would have,

I see thoult not cast me off quite
because of unbeleife
But allways dost, and wilt delight
To give in some releife.

Although not always in that way
that I do it expect
I will be thankfull for each ray
that doth on me, reflect.

The mercy is not ripe for me
or I'me not ripe for't yet
But I will hope, that I shall see
Thou dost not me, forget.

And though I cannot get so neer
as fain I would to Christ
Yet unto me, thou makst this clear
that he is only pris'd.

Whilst nothing else, will satisfie
or give my soull content
It tis made out, undouptedly
that on him it is bent.

Whilst want, of satisfaction
Makes me, more restlese grow
Ther's sweetnese in't to live upon
till more, on me do flow.

I find much sweetnese for to moane
and after thee, still pine
Untill thou fecth me, to thy throne
and cut in two, lifes line.

The spirit, and the brid. say come
thou sayst, I come quikly
Oh let thy char'ot swiftly run
and let me, it espye.

Let not these restlese breathings. cease
till swalow'd up in thee
But let them more, and more, encrease
continually, in me.