My Life, My Love, my Joy,
Who can enough admire
The sweetening Influence
Of Shiloh’s stream, from whence
Virtue abounds unto thy Plants, whereby
The Lily sprouts, free from the Choaking Bryar;
Thy Trees do likewise bring forth Fruit, and flourish,
To th’ Praise of Thee, who dost both Prune and Cherish.
The time that is employ’d
In holy Meditation
Of Thy Prevailing Love,
Engaging from above
The upright Heart, (wherein it is enjoy’d)
In humble Fear, and sacred Admiration,
Is best Improv’d; for this indeed doth tend
To true Content and Peace, World without end.
Alas, Alas! this Day
Seems almost past away;
What shall I say? My Love
Doth hide his face from me,
Who Sorrows in Perplexity:
Ah, shall not Sighs and Groans prevail to move
Unto Compassion? Shall
My drooping Spirit call
And cry, but find no Ear,
No Entrance, no Access,
To ease my Heart in great Distress?
Ah, Lord! How long canst Thou forbear to hear?
Great Dreadful Majesty,
Whose Omnipotency
Is Omnipresent? Doth not Love
Always abound with Thee?
Yea surely, though it be
Thine holy Pleasure thus sometimes to prove.
Especially when we
Have slighted Thee,
Or to thine enemy inclined,
Or have not kept retired,
Nor fervently desired
Thy Presence with a right composed Mind.
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Worthy art thou to be
Sought to in Fervency,
The Careless ones shall not prevail:
Thou, Gracious Prince indeed,
Favours the Wrestling Seed;
This, in its Expectation cannot fail.
Thy sweet Encouragement,
In season does prevent
All Doubtings and Distrust that can
Arise, if faithfully
Our Hearts depend on thee;
Thou waits to manifest Thy Love to Man.
O teach my Soul to wait
At th’ Posts of Wisdom’s gate,
In holy Fear! So to be found
Prepar’d to meet with thee
In true Sincerity,
In whose sweet Presence Heav'nly Joys abound.