The teares or lamentations of a sorrowfull Soule Set foorth by Sir William Leighton |
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A Morning meditation.
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 | The teares or lamentations of a sorrowfull Soule |  |
A Morning meditation.
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I laide me downe to rest, and slept,and in the morning rose againe,
God me sustain'd and safely kept,
and by his grace did me maintaine.
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His Angels pitch't, me round about,sleeping and waking keeping me,
Both comming in and going out,
they guarde me with securitie.
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Lord here my voice in morning brightwhen I my praiers do direct,
And waite till thou the God of light,
doe heere and helpe me with effect.
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O Father full of power and might,mercie and loue, how dare I cast:
Mine eies into thy heauenly sight,
If thou remember my sinnes past.
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How can I thinke or hope for good,heere in the earth to come from high,
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And sin'd against thy maiesty.
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Thou in thy power & knowledg deepelord seest the wicked waies of mine,
Whether in sinne I wake or sleepe,
they are all open to thine eyne.
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My vaine corrupt and euill deeds,my imperfections more and more,
With my pollutions which still breedes,
thine anger worse, then was before.
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Thy iudgement, I might iustly feare,if thou should'st note what's don amisse
Thou might'st in torture be seuere,
but thou giu'st rest, sleepe, peace & blisse.
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And hast me rais'de vp by thy hand,for onely thou preseruest mee,
And me desend'st by sea and land,
a wake or sleepe (I seruing thee)
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whether I walke, worke, eate or drinkeor what ere else, doe what I will,
Thou blessest all that I can thinke,
without thy blessings all were ill.
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For I a creature weake and faint,subiect to daungers that are rife,
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in this corrupt and euill life.
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I lie alasse in night and blindenes,and haue no watch mee to defend,
Yet am preseru'de by thy kindnes,
from them that ill to mee intend.
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Whose owlish eies doe shun the light,who lay their traps & snares in darke
But thou defend me with thy might,
& with bright eie their worke do'st marke
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Thou deare kinde Father full of loue,regardest thy weake and little ones,
Thy many mercies do thee moue,
t'inuiron them soule, blood & bones.
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O gratious God I giue thee thankes,for all thiese mercies maniefold,
Saue me from all the perilous prankes,
of sinne, and of that Serpent ould.
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Forgiue me mine offences Lord,with true repentance Lord me right,
Let thankes with life reform'd accorde,
with trewe obedience in thy sight.
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I am inclin'd to vanitie;to slide into one sinne or other,
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since first I came frō wombe of mother.
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With many foes I am beset,corruptions in me dayly fight,
Which workeing of thy graces let,
and gain'st my faith vse all their might.
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Wresting my will and settled minde,from true sincerity to sinne,
From good desires to be inclin'de,
to deepe dispaire and die therein.
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To make one trust in blandishment,of wicked world my soule deceauing,
And in my soules sad languishment,
of comforts all my soule bereauing.
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I flie vnto the sanctuary,of thy deare care and prouidence,
Assured I shall not miscarry,
when I depend on thy defence.
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Keepe me therefore O King of Kingsas precious Apple of thine eie,
This day me shroud vnder thy winges,
for by thy sauing health liue I.
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Teach me the truth, me knowledg giueand wisdome with all humblenes,
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my soule with hope in all distresse.
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Chaunge me from sinne to sanctitie,from the nights darknes vnto light,
Let my colde zeale, most ardent be,
to serue the Lord both day & night.
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Teach me iustly to execute,my outward calling, giue successe:
And happie issue to my suite,
and all my lawfull labours blesse.
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To brethren loue and equitie,to me and mine in godly care:
With heart and minde true pietie:
to God alone let me repaire.
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And let thy holy spirit so nourish,and gouerne me, that more & more,
I may increase, beare fruit and florish,
in godlines and goodnes store.
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Vntill thou shalt cut off this life,that is corrupt with deadly sinne,
And by Christs merrites end the strife,
of mortall warres my soule liues in.
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And draw me then with cords of loue,to thee and thy Tuition,
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and giue mee there fruition.
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Off thee, & those that raign with thee,with Christ and all that in thy word,
Thou promi'st me; graunt this to mee,
for the same Christ his sake, O Lord.
| The teares or lamentations of a sorrowfull Soule | |