University of Virginia Library


21

[Even as the splitting mariner]

How long! How long! why is not this hour the period of my filthiness. Aug. Conf. 2. lib. 8.

1

Even as the splitting mariner
Blasted with storms
Doth in short sighs his vowes profer,
And so performs
In broken accents what his tongue
Could not but in the utterance wrong:

2

So doth the soul, when that the weight
Of sin doth lie
Upon her crazie shoulders, straight
Her groanes do crie
Wishing she knows not what, yet more
Then any language can implore.

3

How long, my father! wilt me leave?
How long I must
Be an inhabitant of th'grave
involv'd in dust,
Thou who createdst all canst raise
Me out of ashes if thou please.

22

4

How every passion is become
Mine enemie,
And drawes me further from the home
Where I should be:
Yet thou canst curb them, thou alone
Who ne'r wast swaid by passion.

5

Oh when shall snowy Innocence
My inmate be!
And I freed from my load of sence,
Flie up to thee;
Drown me in blood then Ile appear,
Washt in that crimson river, clear.

6

Look, (Lord!) upon my miseries
How they appear
Scribled and fragmented in sighs
Before thee here;
Stop them I pray; yet I confess
These groanings are my happiness.

7

'Tis the first step to health to know
We are not well;
I ope my wounds unto thee so,
Poure oyl and heal:
And when they're closed up take care
They prove not deeper then they are.

23

Epigram 6.

Most happy Rhetorick of sighs, that bear's
Such strong perswasions to Jehovahs eares!
Which stand most firm, when faltring tongue doth fall;
And when thou speakest worst speak'st best of all: