Prison-Pietie or, Meditations Divine and Moral. Digested into Poetical Heads, On Mixt and Various Subjects. Whereunto is added A Panegyrick to The Right Reverend, and most Nobly descended, Henry, Lord Bishop of London. By Samuel Speed, Prisoner in Ludgate, London |
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On Thoughts. |
 | Prison-Pietie |  |
On Thoughts.
Still I am thinking thoughts that are not good,They are as common as my food,
And do increase like Beans in mud,
As thick as any Wood.
Suppose I harbour some that do no ill,
Nor yet no good, they hurt, when fill
To little purpose, lying still,
And such a hurt may kill.
When I am praying to the Lord my God,
They often on my Prayers have trod;
And when I hope'd to scape the rod,
My sins have still abode.
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With such a bold unwelcome guest,
(Unto my shame be it confest)
It is because his Nest,
With my consent before, was builded there,
Who now lies lurking like a Bear,
Watching my sinful Soul to tear,
When once got in his snare.
Lord, be my Surgeon, heal my wounded heart,
And give me grace, that by that Art
I may devise a Bolt or Dart
To cause such thoughts depart.
For with repentant tears it is confest,
Thou art a help to men opprest;
When we are most of all distrest,
Thou art our chiefest rest.
With fervent Zeal unto thy aid we flee,
Thou art our Rest; Truly our hope's in thee.
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