7 The Soull Reaching Out after an Neerer Communion, & Higher Atainments. June 26 72 -
The soull reaching out after an neerer communion, & higher atainments. June 26 72
It never is so well endeed, with me
As when I can be creeping neer, to thee
Thou knowst my god, I can but creep at best
yet till I am with thee, I find no rest
It is my Leasurely, dull, creeping, pace
That is my greatest trouble, in my race
Great measures of thy grace, I would here gain
And unto high degrees. I would attain
I would have heaven always shine in my
Converse, & dayly walking, to each eye
To heaven I would always take wide steps
And towards thee, I would still fecth larg leaps
I would into thy bosome neerer creep
And come to pry, into thosse misterys deep
I would know what it is, into the hart
Of Christ, to win, and wind, by holy art
I would live like a sainct that's dropt from heaven
Whilst I am here, and by a close, and even
Strickt, holy, humble, circumspect, walking
Much, glory, to thy holy name, I'de bring
In that frame always, I desire to be
Which is most sweet, and pleasing, unto thee
I would have the faith. of an Abraham
How from his countrey, and his kindred, came
To folow thee, at thy command into
A land, which yet, he had not pased through
He did not att the promise stager by
His unbeleife, but still did glorifie
Thy name, by his victorious faith, through which
Hee did himself, and all his seed enrich
I would the patience of a Job desire
And to the, meeknese, of Moses aspire
I'de have a hart lift up in thy ways high
with good Jehosaphat, continually
I would the love, of thy desciple John
Still crave, who here, was in thy bosome lain
I would have Davids frame of hart to praise
Thy great, and holy name, whilst here always
The zeall of that sweet chosen vessell Paull
I would desire, & to thee, for it call
But none of all thesse coppys were exact
In Christ, thesse graces met, and nothing lackt
Let me after this coppy write as neer
As it is posible, whilst I am here
In this imperfect state of misery
Surounded, always. with infirmity
My ayms ar high, but my attainments low
Tis thou that must on me, more grace bestow
That I may dayly come to mend my pace
Through this my pilgrimage, & weary race
It never is so well endeed, with me
As when I can be creeping neer, to thee
Thou knowst my god, I can but creep at best
yet till I am with thee, I find no rest
It is my Leasurely, dull, creeping, pace
That is my greatest trouble, in my race
Great measures of thy grace, I would here gain
And unto high degrees. I would attain
I would have heaven always shine in my
Converse, & dayly walking, to each eye
To heaven I would always take wide steps
And towards thee, I would still fecth larg leaps
I would into thy bosome neerer creep
And come to pry, into thosse misterys deep
I would know what it is, into the hart
Of Christ, to win, and wind, by holy art
I would live like a sainct that's dropt from heaven
Whilst I am here, and by a close, and even
Strickt, holy, humble, circumspect, walking
Much, glory, to thy holy name, I'de bring
In that frame always, I desire to be
Which is most sweet, and pleasing, unto thee
I would have the faith. of an Abraham
How from his countrey, and his kindred, came
To folow thee, at thy command into
A land, which yet, he had not pased through
He did not att the promise stager by
His unbeleife, but still did glorifie
Thy name, by his victorious faith, through which
Hee did himself, and all his seed enrich
I would the patience of a Job desire
And to the, meeknese, of Moses aspire
I'de have a hart lift up in thy ways high
with good Jehosaphat, continually
I would the love, of thy desciple John
Still crave, who here, was in thy bosome lain
I would have Davids frame of hart to praise
Thy great, and holy name, whilst here always
The zeall of that sweet chosen vessell Paull
I would desire, & to thee, for it call
But none of all thesse coppys were exact
In Christ, thesse graces met, and nothing lackt
Let me after this coppy write as neer
As it is posible, whilst I am here
In this imperfect state of misery
Surounded, always. with infirmity
My ayms ar high, but my attainments low
Tis thou that must on me, more grace bestow
That I may dayly come to mend my pace
Through this my pilgrimage, & weary race
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