Eternal Mover, whose diffused Glory, <br />To shew our groveling Reason what thou art, <br />Unfolds it self in Clouds of Natures story, <br />Where Man, thy proudest Creature, acts his part: <br />Whom yet (alas) I know not why, we call <br />The Worlds contracted sum, the little all. <br /> <br />For, what are we but lumps of walking clay? <br />Why should we swel? whence should our spirits rise <br />Are not bruit Beasts as strong, and Birds as gay, <br />Trees longer liv'd, and creeping things as wise? <br />Only our souls was left an inward light, <br />To feel our weakness, and confess thy might. <br /> <br />Thou then, our strength, Father of life and death, <br />To whom our thanks, our vows, our selves we owe, <br />From me thy tenant of this fading breath, <br />Accept those lines which from thy goodness flow: <br />And thou that wert thy Regal Prophets Muse, <br />Do not thy Praise in weaker strains refuse. <br /> <br />Let these poor Notes ascend unto thy throne, <br />Where Majesty doth sit with Mercy crown'd, <br />Where my Redeemer lives, in whom alone <br />The errours of my wandring life are drown'd: <br />Where all the Quire of heaven resound the same, <br />That only Thine, Thine is the saving Name. <br /> <br />Well then, my Soul, joy in the midst of Pain; <br />Thy Christ that conquer'd hell, shall from above <br />With greater triumph yet return again, <br />And conquer his own Justice with his Love; <br />Commanding Earth and Seas to render those <br />Unto his Bliss, for whom he paid his Woes. <br /> <br />Now have I done: now are my thoughts at peace, <br />And now my Joyes are stronger then my grief: <br />I feel those Comforts that shall never cease, <br />Future in Hope, but present in Belief. <br />Thy words are true, thy promises are just, <br />And thou wilt find thy dearly bought in Dust.<br /><br />Sir Henry Wotton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/this-hymn-was-made-by-sir-h-wotton-when-he-was-an-ambassador-at-venice-in-the-time-of-a-great-sickness-there/
