 | Poetick Miscellanies of Mr John Rawlet |  |
23
ON Ascension Day.
Art thou ascended blessed Lord on high?And do I on this earth still grovelling lye,
In muddy, sensual, fading pleasures drown'd,
Where pain and grief, horrours and Hell are found?
O pity, dearest Lord, some pity take
On a poor fainting Soul for thy names sake:
Help Lord, Lord help, to thee I lift mine Eyes,
Stretch forth thy helping hand, and make me rise,
O raise my sinking Soul above the Mud,
And dirt of low delights, which Flesh and Blood
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It's pleasures in thy Love and Service find;
But ne'r let that seem pleasant to my taste,
Which grieves thy Spirit, and doth my Conscience waste;
Keep my Soul mindful of its heavenly birth,
That it may Heaven-ward tend, wean'd from this Earth.
By all my falls upon this slippery Ground,
Grant that I nearer may to Heaven rebound,
And let all streams of comfort here below,
Up to the Fountain lead me whence they flow.
Let Faith, and Love, and Longings raise my Heart
Up to the blissful place where Lord thou art;
Let my chief joy spring from this Faith, and Love,
Till I ascend to thee, and joyes above.
| Poetick Miscellanies of Mr John Rawlet | |