Whither, O whither didst thou fly
When I did grieve Thine holy eye?
When Thou didst mourn to see me lost,
And all Thy care and counsels cross'd.
O do not grieve, where'er Thou art!
Thy grief is an undoing smart,
Which doth not only pain, but break
My heart, and makes me blush to speak.
Thy anger I could kiss, and will;
But O Thy grief, Thy grief, doth kill.