XV: To Heaven

Good, and great God, can I not think of thee,

 But it must, straight, my melancholy bee?

Is it interpreted in mee disease,

 That, laden with my sinnes. I seeke for ease?

O, be thou witnesse, that the reines dost know,

 And hearts of all, if I be sad for show,

And judge mee after: if I dare pretend

 To ought but grace, or ayme at other end.

As thou art all, so be thou all to mee,

 First, midst, and last, converted one, and three;

My faith, my hope, my love: and in this state,

 My judge, my witnesse, and my advocate.

Where have I been this while exil'd from thee?

 And whither rapt, now thou but stoup'st to mee?

Dwell, dwell here still: O, being every-where,

 How can I doubt to finde thee ever, here?

I know my state, both full of shame, and scorne,

 Conceiv'd in sinne, and unto labour borne,

Standing with feare, and must with horror fall,

 And destin'd unto judgement, after all.

I feele my griefes too, and there scarce is ground,

 Upon my flesh t'inflict another wound.

Yet dare I not complaine, or wish for death

 With holy Paul, lest it be thought the breath

Of Discontent; or that these prayers bee

 For wearinesse of life, not love of thee.