Sweet were the dayes, when thou didst lodge with Lot,
Struggle with Jacob, sit with Gideon,
Advise with Abraham, when thy power could not
Encounter Moses' strong complaints and moan:
Thy words were then, Let me alone.
One might have sought and found thee presently
At some fair oak, or bush, or cave, or well;
Is my God this way? No, they would reply;
He is to Sinai gone, as we heard tell:
List, ye may heare great Aaron's bell.
But now thou dost thyself immure and close
In some one corner of a feeble heart:
Where yet both Sinne and Satan, thy old foes,
Do pinch and straiten thee, and use much art
To gain thy thirds and little part.
I see the world grows old, when as the heat
Of thy great love once spread, as in an urn
Doth closet up itself, and still retreat,
Cold sinne still forcing it, till it return
And calling Justice, all things burn.
