Classic Poem

An occationall addition June 16 73

Oh let my flames, of love burn pure
Unmixed, from self love, that when
The triell comes, it may endure
Thy own work, thou wilt not condemne

It is a comfort to apeall.
To thee, the searcher of all harts
who wilt att that great day reveall
thosse inward, hiden, cecreet parts

That I esteem pure love, to thee
A heaven, in the midst of hell
Though thou shouldst never smile on me
Or take me up, with thee to dwell

To thee, tis sweet, to make my moane
When overwhelm'd in depths of greife
In'th throng of cretures, I find none
That yeeld me any, true releife

Thou never art, so sweet to me
As when thesse sumer-brooks ar dry
Whilst thou therby, art teaching me
That'th best of men, are vanity.

Ther's nothing then to interpose
And keep me, from, a full, clear, sight
Of'th beauty of that fairest Rose
That is both heaven, and earths delight

Yett with high joys, thou feedst me not
Thosse daintys, ar to good for me
And thosse that think, they ar my lot
They doe mistake me, utterly

For hunger, is my only feast
And pationet desires, for more
Which by denialls, ar encreast
Whilst on my wants, I dayly pore

Break thou mine Idols, then that I
May dote no more, on them henceforth
But wind my soull, still up on high
And ripen, to a perfect growth