Divine raptvres or piety in poesie Digested Into a Queint Diversity of sacred fancies. Composed by Tho. Iordan |
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Sanctificat.
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 | Divine raptvres or piety in poesie |  |
Sanctificat.
O my
head, alas my bones,
O my wounded joynts doe smart,
Flesh ere while as hard as stones,
Now it akes in every part:
Lord 'tis thy Art.
O my wounded joynts doe smart,
Flesh ere while as hard as stones,
Now it akes in every part:
Lord 'tis thy Art.
All thy Iudgements could not scare
Me, nor make my soule to fly,
Now one angry looke can reare
Me, and make me pensive lye
In misery.
Me, nor make my soule to fly,
Now one angry looke can reare
Me, and make me pensive lye
In misery.
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Lord there where I tooke my rise,
There did I begin to reele,
Surfetted in Paradise,
And there I got a bruised heele,
Which now I feele.
There did I begin to reele,
Surfetted in Paradise,
And there I got a bruised heele,
Which now I feele.
Surely my disease was great,
Sicke, and yet I felt no paine;
Hungry, yet I could not eate:
Sore, yet could I not complaine:
Yet all was gaine.
Sicke, and yet I felt no paine;
Hungry, yet I could not eate:
Sore, yet could I not complaine:
Yet all was gaine.
For, good God, thy care was such
That thou gavest me much reliefe,
Yea thou lendedst me a Crutch,
And didst make me know my griefe:
Lord thou art chiefe.
That thou gavest me much reliefe,
Yea thou lendedst me a Crutch,
And didst make me know my griefe:
Lord thou art chiefe.
Thou hast made the rocke to weepe
And my stony heart to groane,
Thou hast rais'd me from my sleepe,
And dost smile to heare my tone;
And lov'st my mone.
And my stony heart to groane,
Thou hast rais'd me from my sleepe,
And dost smile to heare my tone;
And lov'st my mone.
But what need'st thou lend a Crutch,
Thou canst make me perfect whole?
Thou canst heale me with a touch,
By this thou know'st a woman stole,
Cure for her dole.
Thou canst make me perfect whole?
Thou canst heale me with a touch,
By this thou know'st a woman stole,
Cure for her dole.
When leave I this halting pace?
When shall I most perfect be?
When thou shalt my glistring face,
In the land of glory see.
Lord perfect me.
When shall I most perfect be?
When thou shalt my glistring face,
In the land of glory see.
Lord perfect me.
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