LXII. Desires of being quickned by the Word of GOD.

WITH Pity, LORD, thy Servant view,
As in the Dust I lye,
Nor, while I raise my plaintive Voice,
Disdain the broken Cry.

Fain would I mount on Eagles Wings,
And view thy lovely Face;
But cumb'rous Burdens drag me down
From thine ador'd Embrace.

Thy quick'ning Energy diffuse
O'er all my inmost Frame;
And animate these languid Lips
To celebrate thy Name.

Thy living Word has Wonders wrought,
Those Wonders here renew;
And pour fresh Vigour thro' my Soul,
While I its Glory view.

From thee, Great ever-flowing Spring,
Let vital Streams descend;
And chear me to begin those Songs,
Which Death shall never end.