Classic Poem

The Child in a strangers arms.

Oh world, what means thy tempting charms
I'me like a litle Child
Infolded in, a strangers arms
whilst in thee, I am held.

If the Child doe, its father spy
it then can take no rest
But will strecth out, its arms, and cry
in'ts fathers arms to nest.

Whatever you to it can give
it will not satisfie
Nothing can to it give releife
But still t'will moane, and cry.

Untill its father, do it take
and then its crys, doe cease
Its fathers arms can only make
it still, & be at peace.

Oh pity Lord, my weary soull
still reaching after thee
And cannot rest, till thou condole
and strecth thine arms, to me.

My soull cannot be quiet sung
with this worlds luluby
somthing There is that from thee sprung
that makes mee restlesly.

Desire, and long, once for to be
in thy sweet arms entwin'd
I cannot come, to reach att thee
whilst I am here confin'd.

Thou hast more pity in thee Lord
then fathers, on the earth
I shall not then, be long in word
where is nought else, but dearth.

Thy meaning's hid, I know it not
but surely thou wilt own
Thy own desires thou'st in me wrought
and fecth me, to thy throne.