Poverty

As in the House I sate
Alone & desolate,
No Creature but the Fire & I,
The Chimney & the Stool, I lift mine Ey
Up to the Wall,
And in the silent Hall
Saw nothing mine
But som few Cups & Dishes shine
The Table & the wooden Stools
Where Peeple us'd to dine:
A painted Cloth there was
Wherin som ancient Story wrought
A little entertain'd my Thought
Which Light discover'd throu the Glass.

I wonder'd much to see
That all my Wealth should be
Confin'd in such a little Room,
Yet hope for more I scarcely durst presume.
It griev'd me sore
That such a scanty Store
Should be my All:
For I forgat my Eas & Health,
Nor did I think of Hands or Eys,
Nor Soul nor Body prize;
I neither thought the Sun,
Nor Moon, nor Stars, nor Peeple, mine,
Tho they did round about me shine;
And therfore was I quite undon.

Som greater things I thought
Must needs for me be wrought,
Which till my craving Mind could see
I ever should lament my Poverty:
I fain would have
Whatever Bounty gave;
Nor could there be
Without, or Lov or Deity:
For, should not He be Infinit
Whose Hand created me?
Ten thousand absent things
Did vex my poor & wanting Mind,
Which, till I be no longer blind,
Let me not see the King of Kings.

His Lov must surely be
Rich, infinit, & free;
Nor can He be thought a God
Of Grace & Pow'r, that fills not his Abode,
His Holy Court,
In kind & liberal Sort;
Joys & Pleasures,
Plenty of Jewels, Goods, & Treasures,
(To enrich the Poor, cheer the forlorn)
His Palace must adorn,
And given all to me:
For till His Works my Wealth became,
No Lov, or Peace, did me enflame:
But now I have a Deity.