Sions Elegies: Threnodia I, Eleg. 21

WHere, where art thou, O sacred Lambe of peace,
That promis'd to the heavie laden, ease?
Thee, thee alone, my often bended knee
Invokes, that haue no other helpe, but thee;
My foes (amazed at my hoarse complaining)
Scoffe at my oft repeated cries, disdaining
To lend their prosp'rous hand, they hisse and smile,
Taking a pleasure to behold my spoile:
Their hands delight to bruize my broken reeds,
And still persist, to prick that heart that bleeds;
But there's a Day (if Prophets can divine)
Shal scourge their sins, as they have scourged mine.