Classic Poem

sep 4 The soulls Charge drawn up against intruders and compaint to the right owner and Lord of the house.

Cast out intruders, Lord
out of thy dwelling place
I know they ar, by thee abhor'd
and soe by me, through grace.

Thesse inmates doe disturb
I cannot be att rest
They ar thy foes, wilt thou not curb
and of their pow'r divest.

About thy house. they lurk
I cannot quiet be
When I'me employ'd about thy work
they ar disturbing me.

Tis they that break the peace
and make stirs, and uproars
Wilt thou not make their tumults cease
and cast them out of doors.

Thesse inmats have no right
in thy temple to dwell
Oh cast them out (dear Lord) in spight
of satten, and of hell.

My hart it is thine own
oh cast out each vain thought
And let them not, get on thy throne
which is by purchase bought.

My hart I doe design
to thee, as thine own part
Oh let not sin, nor Saten, wind
Into't by any art.

An holy hart thou dost
of me always require
And that thou wouldst out of it thrust
the world, is my desire.

Then why should this world break
in to my hart, tis thine
Oh gaurd it still, (for it is weak)
by grace, and pow r devine.

Let not this vain world fill
my hart, att any time
But let it be, more holy still
and always to thee climb.

Let not my hart be torn
by thoughts, from thee again
But let me thurst them out, with scorn
and heavenly distaine.