OFT have I calm'd Misfortunes Deep, And sung my storming Greifs asleep: But now the Tempests Roar is swelld Too high to Muse's Voice to yeild: Or yf it bowes to any Verse, It must be that wch shall befriend my Herse. 2 Alas, my Sorrows were no more Then could be scanned heertofore! But Measures now & Numbers be Themselves no longer unto Me; Nor can their terminated Might Deal with those Torments which are Infinite. 3 The Soule of this Complaint, to none Is known, deer Lord, but Thee alone: Thou seest how lamentable I In a strange Hell of Sweetness frie: Thou se'st my Heart & Me all rent Upon a Rack of Torturing Content. 4 Not all this World could hire Me to Flie from this delectable Woe. Yet yf thy Pleasure be to ease My deer & pretious Miseries; Do, mighty Lord; thy Will is best I yeild, & will endure to be at Rest. 5 I think I yeild: O Jesu trie The bottome of thy Victory: O search, & sift this heart, & see It cheats not Me, nor injur's Thee. O yf it bends not, break it quite: That Heart is soundest, wch is most Contrite. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...APPLE SAUCE! by EDITH GRACE BERKNESS HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 7 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH CHILD ELSIE by WILLIAM STANLEY BRAITHWAITE THE PRAYERS OF SAINTS by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON TO A.D. UNREASONABLE DISTRUSTFUL OF HER OWN BEAUTY by THOMAS CAREW THE TYRANTS by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES AN ELEGY UPON THE DEATH OF THE LADY MARKHAM by JOHN DONNE |