Classic Poem

The soull clouded. sep 12 72

Why turnest thou thy face away
On the inshutting of the day

Whilst all things doe in darknese shourd
Thou wrapst thy self, up in a cloud

Thou knowst I cannot be content
Whilst I'me out of thy presence pent

Except upon my soull thou shine
I must have leave, to moane, & pine

Oh shew thy self, to me with speed
Or take mee up that I may feed

My eyes, to satisfaction,
Upon thy well beloved son

When it is with me att the best
I cannot here take, up my rest

Much lesse, when thou art gone, can I
The Least true satisfaction spy

Yet Lord, I hope, that I am thine
And though the gates of hell combine

Thy cov'nant firm, they cannot break
Or make thy promises to leak

Oh let my faith, break through each throng
And in the dark, make thee, her song

I must not always, live by sence
Untill thou calst me up from hence

And then I know. thou'lt clear the sky
On me, to all, eternity.