Sonnet: Convertimento á Dio

TIR'D, and almost or'ecome with th' heavy weight,
Of my old Sins, by Custome grown so strong,
I'm fearful, lest Lifes way being rough and long,
I from it turn, by my own, or Foes deceit.
I have a Friend 'tis true, that from Heav'ns height,
Came down to free me, and redress my Wrong,
Of love he came, but quickly 'amidst the throng
I lost him, whose return in vain I wait;
Upwards he flew, and flying thus did cry,
"Burd'ned and weary Souls, behold your Way
"Hither, come hither to me, and find Rest!
What Grace, what Love, my Lord, what Destiny,
Will give me a Doves wings, on which I may
Mount from this Earth, and be of Heav'n possest?