Classic Poem

With ready joy oh let me, Lord! agree.
To be orecome when thou wilt have it so:
Instruct me in the noblest Victory,
By patience to subdue my self, and foe;
Conquests like Christs, a Christian King best shew:

Mold us to Piety betwixt thy Hands,
Prest by thy left, supported by thy right;
Pardon the pride of our successfull Bands,
And the repinings of our luckless Fight,
When (trusting in our own) deny'd thy might:

When we are ought, or nothing, be thou All;
That thy wide glorys the whole World may fill,
Or in our Conquest, or inglorious fall.
Thou know'st with what Regret I suffer ill,
From those whose Good's the scope of all my will.

The Ills they force me to inflict, I bear;
And in their punishments, my own embrace,
Victor or vanquish'd! since a double share
Of certain suffering doth my Hope displace,
Grant me a double Portion of thy Grace.

As most afflicted, Lord, reform me most,
To see our Peace, and to restore it blest.
That all subdu'd by reasons power, may boast,
A mutuall Conquest, common strife supprest
In publick Union, our joynt Interest.

But if as sins of Peace provok'd this War,
Peace for the sins of War thou shouldst deny,
Making our miseries more circular:
Yet let thy servant midst these broyles enjoy
That Peace the World nor gives, nor can destroy.

To me impute not, Lord! the purple Flood,
Shed with unwilling grief in my defence.
But wash me in my Saviours precious blood:
By whom my troubles hope a quick dispence;
For short are impious joys, and Confidence.