Classic Poem

No rest below perfection, June 3 73

I could complain
but yet I hardly dare
Of unthankfullnese, I would beware
I dont deserve the least
Yett ev'ry day, I fain would feast

My wants encrease
and hunger that doth grow
What e're thou dost on me bestow
No comfort I espye
In what I Joy'd in formerly

Oh weary life
Thou holdest to my veiw
Somthing that is unto me new
and lovly to the eye
Which makes me reach out restlesly

It to attain.
And if thou dost bestow
It upon me, desires to grow
and whilst on want, I pore
I am as restlese, as before
However Lord.
I would not be deny'd
This frame, whilst to the body ty'd
Tis all my comfort here
Till, I get my fill, of heavens chear