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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To God the Son. |
 | Prison-Pietie |  |
To God the Son.
Let others take their course,And sing what Name they please;
Let Wealth or Beauty be their theam,
Such empty sounds as these.
I never will admire
A lump of burnish'd Clay;
For though it shines, it is but dust,
And shall to dust decay.
Sweet Jesus is the Name
My Song shall still adore;
Sweet Jesus is the charming Word
That does my Life restore.
When I am dead in grief,
Or, what is worse, in sin,
I call on Jesus, and he hears,
And I to live begin.
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Behold, thus low I bow,
And thus again; yet is all this
Nothing to what I owe.
Down then, down bow my knees
Still lower to the ground,
While with mine eyes and voice lift up,
Aloud these Lines I sound:
Live Heaven's glorious King,
By Angels bright ador'd;
Live, gracious Saviour of the World,
Our chief and only Lord:
Live, and for ever may
Thy Throne establish'd be;
For ever may all hearts and tongues
Sing Praises unto thee.
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