Isaiah 38

In the substraction of my yeares,
I said with Teares;
Ah! now I to the Shades below
Must naked goe:
Cut off by Death before my Time;
And like a Flower cropt in my Prime.

Lord in thy Temple I no more
Shall Thee adore:
No longer with Mankind converse,
In my cold Herse.
My Age is past ere it be spent;
Removed like a Shepheards Tent.

My fraile Life, like a Weavers thred,
My Sins have shred:
My vitall powers Diseases waste
With greedy haste:
Even from the Evening to the Day
I languish, and consume away.

And when the Morning Watch is past,
Thinke that my last.
Thou like a Lion break'st my bones,
Nor hear'st my groanes:
Even from the Dawning to the Night,
Death waites to close my failing Sight.

Thus Swallow-like, like to a Crane,
My Woes complaine:
Mourne like a Turtle-Dove, but late
Rob'd of his Mate.
I my dim eyes to Thee erect:
The Weake ô strengthen, and protect!

What praise can reach thy Clemency,
O thou Most High!
Thy Words are ever crown'd with Deeds:
Joy Griefe succeeds.
My bitter pangs at length are past;
And long my peacefull dayes shall last.

My lively vigour dost restore,
Increa'st with more:
My Yeares prolong'd, now flourishing
In their new Spring:
Thou hast with Joy dry'd up my Teares;
And with my Griefe exil'd my Feares.

Thy Love hath drawne me from the Pit,
Where Horrors sit:
My Soule-infecting Sins thou hast
Behind Thee cast.
The Grave can not thy Praise relate;
Nor Death thy Goodnesse celebrate.

Can they expect thy Mercy, whom
Cold Earth intombe?
The Living must thy Truth display;
A I this Day.
This Fathers to their Sons shall tell,
While Soules in humane Bodies dwell.

The Lord as ready was to save,
As I to crave:
I therefore to the warbling string
His Praise will sing:
And in his House, till my last Day,
My gratefull Vowes devoutly pay.