Classic Poem

The soull under fears of declining.

I fear sometimes, I do decline
when I my self doe veiw
The seed, & bloom of grace is thine
Oh bid it not adeiw.

I cannot hold out one short day
if thou lett goe, thy hold
I stumble, & fall in my way
and soon grow dead, and cold.

Let not the thing, which I so fear
and always, greatly dread
Come on me, but let it appear
that I by thee, am led.

Oh let me never, make a stand
but always climbing be
Till entre'd in the holy land
to take full veiws, of thee.

It will be for thine honour Lord
to magnifie thy grace
When I thy praises, shall record
within thy dwelling place.

Oh let my weaknese, be a foyl
to make thy grace, to shine
In makeing of my barren soyl
to bear, still fruit devine.

In this, I would be like the sun
setting in a clear night
Whose glorious, rays then do run
and make the clouds, round bright.

When the sun, of my life shall set
lett such a lustre be
That others then much good may gett
whilst they, thy glory see.

Oh let me never cease to grow
till heaven I doe reach
Lett thy grace, in me overflow
New lessons, to me teach.

I have no strength that is my own
but it, in thee doth ly
Leave me not till unto thy throne
thou'st brought me safe, on high.