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

Of Discontent; or that these prayers bee  For wearinesse of life, not love of thee.