Sions Elegies: Threnodia III, Eleg. 11

LAbour perfected, with the evening ends,
The lampe of heaven (his course fulfill'd) descends
Can workes of nature seeke, and finde a rest;
And shall the torments of a troubled brest,
Impos'd by Natures all-commanding GOD,
Ne're know an end, ne're finde a period?
Deare soule despaire not, whet thy dull beliefe
With hope; heavens mercy will o'recome thy griefe
From thee, not him, proceeds thy punishment,
Hee's slow to wrath, and speedy to relent;
Thou burnst like gold, consumest not like fuell;
O, wrong not Heaven, to thinke that Heaven is cruell.