Tell him here's worse then a confused matter-
His little world's a fathom under water;
Nought but the fervor of his ardent beams
Hath power to dry the torrent of these streams.
Tell him I would say more, but cannot well:

Oppressed minds abruptest tales do tell.

Now post with double speed, mark what I say;
By all our loves conjure him not to stay.

LONGING FOR HEAVEN

As weary pilgrim now at rest
Hugs with delight his silent nest,
His wasted limbes now lye full soft
That myrie steps have troden oft,
Blesses himself to think upon

his dangers past and travailes done;

35

40

1678.

5

The burning sun no more shall heat,

Nor stormy raines on him shall beat;

The bryars and thornes no more shall scratch,
nor hungry wolves at him shall catch;

nor stumps nor rocks cause him to fall;

All cares and feares he bids farwell,

and meanes in safity now to dwell:

A pilgrim I on earth perplext,

with sinns, with cares and sorrows vext, By age and paines brought to decay,

and my Clay house mouldring away,

Oh how I long to be at rest

and soare on high among the blest!
This body shall in silence sleep,

Mine eyes no more shall ever weep,
No fainting fits shall me assaile,

nor grinding paines my body fraile,
With cares and fears ne'r cumbred be,
Nor losses know nor sorrowes see.

"My Sheep, draw near, your Sentence hear,