Classic Poem

A view of the vanity of the world, and the sweetnese of Christ makes the soull long after him

Thou art in the abstract, most dear
to me my only one
I can find sweet, and blessed chear
in thee, and thee alone

All cretures ar, to mee as Chaff
to smoak, they doe evanish
But when on me, thou dost once laugh
all sorrow it doth banish

The world's an outside painted fire
att which poor fools doe sport
Tis Christ, that I will still admire
and his love, I will court

When I compare this world with Christ
I find it bear no weight
Here's nothing like him to be pris'd
all cretures, ar deceit

The meat, & drink, this world dos give
it is not worth our toyle
I cannot tell, how on't to live
the world's a barren soyle

Its sweet for to be throughly wean'd
from this worlds vanity
Our harts, ar then, by Christs love chain'd
and knit to him firmly

Christ he is alltogather sweet
a rose, without a thorne
On earth with briers wee still meet
wher by our hearts ar torn

Christ is most pleasent, to the tast
when we with bitternese
Doe meet in this unkind worlds wast
and howling willdernese

It is comunion with thy self
in duty, I doe prize
Beyound all this worlds durty pelf
without this, my hart dyes

Oh fill me up, unto the brim
with thy love, whilst I'me here
In ocean love, I long to swim
in heavens highest sphere

Oh fecth thy conquer'd captive home
taken, in chains of love
Draw me, by them, untill I come
unto the god above