Classic Poem

The Complaint of a burdened soull.

Some pity take
Oh god of grace
& speedyly
Shew me thy face

My hart doth ake,
I find no rest
To be with thee
Lord, it is best

I cannot mourn,
But like a stone
My hart is dead
And sencelese, grown

I want a hart
Enflam'd with love
that I may
may faster to thee move,

My unbeleiving
heart makes me,
to start, and run
away from thee.

Afections they,
bend to the eearth
And rob my soull
of all true mirth

If I for comfort
look within
ther is the guilt
& filth of sin.

Thyne arows they,
Stick in me fast
My sorows they,
ar keen, and last

All peace, and Joy,
is from me fled.
In paiths of darknese,
I am Led

I am beset
With hels black shade
Through seas of
darknese, I doe wade

Life is a burden
unto mee,
Because from sin
I cant be free.

Prefering death,
Before a life
That is so full
of wofull, strife

When sin dos stare
me in the face
And I seem
destidute, of grace

Tis that I know
not how to bear
My days in greif,
doe wast, & wear

But still I shall, & ever must
Say thou art righteous, good, & Just.