Do not beguile my heart,
Because thou art
My power and welcome. Put me not to shame,
Because I am
Thy clay that weeps, thy dust that calls.
Thou art the Lord of glorie;
The deed and storie
Are both thy due; but I a silly flie,
That live or die,
According as the weather falls.
Art thou all justice, Lord?
Shows not thy word
More attributes? Am I all throat or eye
To weep or crie?
Have I no parts but those of grief?
Let not thy wrathfull power
Afflict my houre,
My inch of life: or let thy gracious power
Contract my houre,
That I may climbe and finde relief.
