Classic Poem

Alas, when my distressed Mind,
Through secret drawings, is inclin'd,
Great King! to wait on thee;
O how the subtil Enemy
Presents fond Fancies, to entice aside
My Heart from true Stability;
So to despise true lasting Joys,
And entertain vain transitory Toys,
Which ne'er can satiate the Soul, when try'd.

O how would Sloath entice mine Eyes!
My weary Eyes to Sleep,
That had more cause to Weep,
Because the Solace of my Soul seems gone,
And left my Heart alone,
Surrounded with a Troop of Enemies.

O whither is he gone? Or where
Shall I go mourn, till he appear,
Who is my Life, my Love?
Alas, how shall I move
Him to return, that's secretly retir'd;
Like unto one displeas'd,
Who, till he be appeas'd,
My Heart cannot be eas'd;
He is one lovely, and to be admir'd!
How long, alas, my Love, my Life,
Wilt thou with-hold the Influence
Of thy Enam'ring Countenance,
The Light of Life! Bow down thine Ear
To an afflicted Heart, and hear
Its Cries and Groans, and grant Relief.

Without thy Presence all's in vain;
Alas! How long shall I complain?
The Cause of Grief is not from thee.
Is there not some Iniquity,
That keeps thus at a distance from my Love?
Or art thou pleas'd to shroud
Me thus, as in a Cloud?
How long, Lord, shall it be
Before thou please to answer from above?

'Tis none but thee, thou Holy One!
'Tis thy Prevailing Light alone
Can rend the Vail, and all these Clouds remove:
It's thou that grieves for me,
And makes my Soul in Sympathy,
Thus to pant after thee, thou God of Love.