Distraction
O knit me, that am crumbled dust! the heap
Is all dispersed, and cheap;
Give for a handful, but a thought
And it is bought;
Hadst thou
Made me a star, a pearl, or a rain-bow,
The beams I then had shot
My light had lessened not,
But now
I find my self the less, the more I grow;
The world
Is full of voices; Man is called, and hurled
By each, he answers all,
Knows every note, and call,
Hence, still
Fresh dotage tempts, or old usurps his will.
Yet, hadst thou clipped my wings, when coffined in
This quickened mass of sin,
And saved that light, which freely thou
Didst then bestow,
I fear
I should have spurned, and said thou didst forbear;
Or that thy store was less,
But now since thou didst bless
So much,
I grieve, my God! that thou hast made me such.
I grieve?
O, yes, thou know'st I do; come, and relieve
And tame, and keep down with thy light
Dust that would rise, and dim my sight,
Lest left alone too long
Amidst the noise and throng,
Oppressed I
Striving to save the whole, by parcels die.
Created by
guccipiggy
Last modified
2006-03-11 01:50 AM
