 | Miscellaneous works of George Wither |  |
67
A bitter-sweet Passion of the Soul, Expressed in A HYMNE to GOD.
By The same Author.
[1]
My dear, my gracious GOD!From me Thy Face, why hidest Thou?
Oh! why is Thy aboad
So far, so long, removed now?
See, how alone
(Now Thou art gone)
And helpless, I am left;
Of ev'ry thing
That joy may bring,
Heed, how I am bereft.
2
I, who but lately seem'dOf many Friends belov'd to be,
And so of some esteem'd,
As if their Souls had liv'd in me;
(Though, nor neglect,
Nor dis-respect,
Of them deserv'd I have)
Am now, forlorn
As one unborn,
Or lodged in his Grave.
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3
The lovely Desart-Owl,Which dares not fly abroad by Day;
That persecuted Fowl,
For which the Fowler Snares doth lay;
Is not hipt at,
As I, of late,
By Wag-Tayls, Dawes and Crows.
Nor hardlyer scapes
His Gins and Traps
Who seeks her overthrows.
4
For, when with some Delight,My heart began on Thee to muse,
This World, forsook me streight;
And, ever since, doth me abuse.
To Hate and Scornes,
Her Love she turns;
Her Friends, my Foes she makes:
What sland'rous Lies
She can devise,
Of me, she faines, and speakes.
5
And, now, with Vaunts and Brags,That, she, on me, aveng'd appears;
From me, her gaudy Rags,
With all her Gifts, away she tears:
And not content
So to have rent
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She would bereave
(With what she gave)
Those things, that are mine own.
6
She doth corrupt my Friends,My Wrongs and Sorrows to increase;
Job's Comforters she sends,
To make more grievous my Distress:
To mind she calls,
Things true and false,
Which may my Peace impair;
With whatsoe'er,
May make me fear,
And, let in Black Despair.
7
Not those Defects alone,For which, she justly me suspects,
(Or Duties left undone,)
To my Vexation, she objects;
But, doth devise
How, she likewise
May to my blame pervert,
What I design'd
With upright minde,
And singleness of heart.
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7
And, (which augments my care)My Selfness oft with her conspires,
Which ere I am aware
Lets in false Fears, and vain desires;
Which, taking part
Against my Heart,
Therein such Tumults make,
That, sometimes, they
Bear Spoiles away,
And, cause my Faith to shake.
9
Yet this affrights me more,Then all their Malice, Force or Guile;
Thou, though I Thee implore,
Stand'st by, as Newter, all the while.
What she hath done
Thou look'st upon,
And, knowst what they intend;
Yet letst them still
Pursue their Will,
As if Thou wert her Friend.
10
Oh! whither or to whomCan I for Health or Comfort fly?
If thou, my Foe become,
Whereon, henceforth, shall I rely?
I hope may have
That in the Grave
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And finde as well
A Heav'n in Hell,
As Joy in ought save Thee.
11
But, LORD, though in the dark,And in contempt, thy servant lies;
On me there shines a Spark
Of Loving-kindness from Thine eyes:
Yea, though without
(Quite round about)
I am inclos'd with Sin,
Increasing Foes,
Fears, Wars, and Woes,
Thou, Peace, preserv'st within.
12
For, when I looked onThose Terrors which begirt me round,
I thought, Thou had'st been gone,
Because no outward Hope I found.
Yet hid Thou wert
Within my Heart,
Still present, all the while,
And my late Fear
Doth false appear:
For, now I see Thee Smile.
FINIS.
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