Poetical fragments heart-employment with God and it selfPoetical fragments heart-imployment with God and it self

With the Relief of the Self-condemning Soul.

O Mercy, Mercy, Mercy! O my God! Must I feel nothing but thy smarting Rod? Must I be daily on the rack of sears? And have no drink to quench my thirst but tears? Where is the Spring that feeds this bitter stream? That stops not, either when I wake or dream? These Worms of Fear and Grief, whose food I am, Into the world as brethren with me came: Youthful diversions cast them once asleep, But Light awakened them to bite more deep. Since then, I lived between thy Book and Rod; And in thy School of Discipline abode: Sometimes thy gentle twigs touched but the skin: Sometimes thy sharper strokes did enter in: ⟨p. 103⟩Most of them fell but on my outward part: But now they pierce, they wound, they kill my heart. Spare Lord! I sigh, I groan, I weep, I cry! O spare! before I bleed, I sink, I die! O spare the Heart! or wound none but mine own! And let me sigh, and weep, and mourn alone! It's I that sinned: these Sheep what have they done? I sinned but with One Heart: O break but One! Shall I that have extolled thy peoples Joys, And told men of the sweetness of thy ways; Now by my plaints and dolour make them think, Thou givest us Gall and Vinegar to drink. Set me not as a spectacle of wrath, To frighten comers from the holy path.

O Mercy, Mercy, Mercy! O my God! Must I feel nothing but thy smarting Rod? Must I be daily on the rack of sears? And have no drink to quench my thirst but tears? Where is the Spring that feeds this bitter stream? That stops not, either when I wake or dream? These Worms of Fear and Grief, whose food I am, Into the world as brethren with me came: Youthful diversions cast them once asleep, But Light awaken'd them to bite more deep. Since then, I liv'd between thy Book and Rod; And in thy School of Discipline abode: Sometimes thy gentle twigs toucht but the skin: Sometimes thy sharper stroaks did enter in: ⟨p. 103⟩Most of them fell but on my outward part: But now they pierce, they wound, they kill my heart. Spare Lord! I sigh, I groan, I weep, I cry! O spare! before I bleed, I sink, I die! O spare the Heart! or wound none but mine own! And let me sigh, and weep, and mourn alone! It's I that sinn'd: these Sheep what have they done? I sinn'd but with One Heart: O break but One! Shall I that have extoll'd thy peoples Joyes, And told men of the sweetness of thy waies; Now by my plaints and dolor make them think, Thou giv'st us Gall and Vinegar to drink. Set me not as a spectacle of wrath, To frighten commers from the holy path.