Classic Poem

The souls complaint from a sence of its
inntabilyty, and unconstancy, in this
imperfect state.

Oh who will help me, for to moane
Whilst in a tent of clay
'th body of sin, makes, me to groan
And long, to get away.

That which is now before mine eye
And makes me stand, & maize
It is my great unconstancy
relapses, & decays.

Somtimes in duty, I delight
and tast how sweet thou art
Somtimes, I cannot get a sight
of thee, not for my hart.

Somtimes, to heaven, I doe get
anon to hell I fall
And am with darknese soe beset
as that I question all.

I'me constant here in nothing but
A vain inconstancy
My hart doth still open, and shut
to sin, and vanity.

Somtimes, my faith, is strong, and bold
And will not daunted be
But will on any thing lay hold
that's reached out by thee.

Anon it is so weak, and low
as that it cant scarse creep
Tis trambled on, by ev'ry foe
and lyes as t'were asleep.

Somtimes I feell, sweet acts of love
seting my soull on fire
Drawing my hart to god above
the object of desire.

Somtimes, I cannot feell a cole
of love, left in my hart
Nor any spark within my soull
that can true warmth impart.

Somtimes, repentence that runs free
sin makes my hart to melt
Again such hardnese, I doe see
that nothing else is felt.

the sin of which, I do complain
doth seem to lye as dead
Within a while it starts again
and gets a greater head.

Somtimes my hart, is put in tune
and mounting up on high
But quikly tis let down and soon
upon the earth doth lye.

Enlargment somtimes, I do find
when unto god I seek
Anon soe streightly pent, no mind
I have att all to speak.

Somtimes thy love, I can beleive
and sweetly doe aply
Anon their's nothing can releive
my hopes, they seem to dye.

My will somtimes, seems to be brought
quite over to thy will
But soon with discontent I'me fraught
and what thou dost, I vill

Somtimes a great afliction
doth seem unto me light
Again a small crose makes me wan
when it appears in sight.

Somtimes, a small sin, like a moat
will make the eye to weep
Anon, a greater comes afloat
and I ly as asleep.

And thus t'will be, I know alway
whilst on this sea I sayl
Each will contend to win the day
till grace, att death prevaill.

If thus it must be always then
that here, I cant have peace
Oh give, me leave, to cry out when
shall thesse days of sin cease.

Thou wilt Lord, stand on graces side
tis thine, thou makst it mine
Thou wilt not let sin long abide
thy grace shall fully shine.