Classic Poem

The soull under a sence of Christs hiding his face, & suspending influences makes its complaint.

How mutable is this my state
somtimes thou shinst on me
Somtimes it is my dismall fate
thy face, I cannot see.

Former experience. I doe call
in question as not true
Whilst thus my spirits sink, and fall
to peace, I bid adiew.

With darknese, I am wrapt about
and covered all o're
Soe that no paith, I can find out
Though I doe seek, and pore.

The influences of thy grace
thou dost from me suspend
No quikning rays, from thy sweet face
doe on my soull descend.

I am as one bewildered
and got into a maize
My graces, they ly as t'were dead
untill thy spirit raise.

Now doe I long, for to be gone
Thinking it cant be worse
Then thus to live, as one alone
that's left to take her course.

Yet some relief, in this I find
in pouring out my soull
Justifiing, thee, in my mind
whilest I my state condole.

Thy covenant, I wil hold fast
for thy return I'le wait
Veiwing thy loving kinndnese past
which cant by sin abate.

Their's nothing, that will satisfie
whilst thou dost hide thy face
Therfore thy self, let me espy
and draw thou neer apace.