Classic Poem

Kill me not ev'ry day,
Thou Lord of life, since thy one death for me
Is more than all my deaths can be,
Though I in broken pay
Die over each hour of Methuselah's stay.

If all men's tears were let
Into one common sewer, sea, and brine;
What were they all, compared to thine,
Wherein if they were set,
They would discolour thy most bloody sweat?

Thou art my grief alone.
Thou, Lord, conceal it not; and as thou art
All my delight, so all my smart.
Thy cross took up in one,
By way of imprest, all my future moan.