Since, Lord, to thee
A narrow way and little gate
Is all the passage, on my infancie
Thou didst lay hold, and antedate
My faith in me.
O let me still
Write thee great God, and me a childe;
Let me be soft and supple to thy will,
Small to myself, to others milde,
Behither ill.
Although by stealth
My flesh get on; yet let her sister
My soul bid nothing, but preserve her wealth.
The growth of flesh is but a blister;
Childhood is health.
