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 |
 |
Spiritus Sanctus. |
 | Prison-Pietie |  |
Spiritus Sanctus.
Come, holy Spirit, come, and breatheThy spicy Odours on the face
Of our dull Region here beneathe,
And fill our Souls with thy sweet Grace.
Come, and root out the poysonous Weeds
That over-run and choak our lives,
And in our hearts plant thine own Seeds,
Whose quickning power our Spirit revives.
First plant the humble Violet there
That dwells secure by being low,
11
And make us chast, yet fruitful too.
But oh, plant all the Vertues, Lord,
And let the Metaphors alone;
Repeat once more that mighty Word,
Thou needst but say, Let it be done.
We can, alas, nor be, nor grow,
Unless thy powerful mercy please;
Thy hand must plant and water too,
Thy hand alone must give encrease.
Do then what thou alone canst do,
Do what to thee so easie is,
Conduct us through this World of woe,
And place us safe in thine own Bliss.
All Glory to the Sacred Three,
One Ever living Soveraign Lord,
As at the first, still may he be
Belov'd and prais'd, fear'd and ador'd.
| Prison-Pietie | |