A SPIRITUAL SONGE OF
Thankesgiving unto GOD, for his grace and power. Written by a
close prisonner (with a coale) for his owne
comforte.
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LET others singe of this and that,
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I will singe to thy prayse,
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Who doest out of adversitie,
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Deliver me alwayes:
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And stoodst to me that Comforter,
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In all my sore temptation:
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Who doeth refreshe my sinfull soule
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With spirituall consolation:
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And grauntst to me such patience,
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For all my foes despight,
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As I to wayte upon thy will,
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Doe inwardlie delight.
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And when I see my nature strive
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Against thy just correction,
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Then doe I pray thy Majestie
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To helpe myne unsubjection.
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And when my troubles most increase,
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(As who lives well and smarts not)
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Then comes my Saviour next to me,
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And stickes by me and startes not:
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And when I feele my fleshe to shrinke
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Under thy heavie hande,
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I am constraind my wretchednes,
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Better to understande:
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Calling to minde those grievous sinns,
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I thought not on before,
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Lamenting them and purposing
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To doe the like no more:
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But their contrarie vertues all,
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Eftsoone to put in ure
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From grace to grace, from strength to strength,
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Whylst my dayes shall endure:
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By thy free grace and perfect strength,
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Whereof alone I boast,
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For if I should doe otherwyse,
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My labour were but loste:
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Since all good giftes doe come from thee,
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And thou wilt suffer none
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To rob thee of that prayse which doeth
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Belong to thee alone:
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Yet whylst by wrestling against sinne,
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Rewarde for to obtaine,
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I seeke by deserte of my workes,
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Thou aunswerst thus againe.
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WHereas thy sinnes doe farre exceede,
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My grace doeth more abounde,
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And in thy weakenes most of all,
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My power is tryed and founde:
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My grace in Christ sufficient is,
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And all my workes doeth passe:
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By it I am more glorified,
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Then ought that ever was:
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And as I made all things of nought,
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And darkenes to be light,
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So make I nought for to bee good,
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And feeble to bee might:
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All persons and all things on earth
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I have shutt under sinne,
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That by my pardon, generall,
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I might all glorie winne.
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I am the first, the middest, and last,
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And I am all in all,
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That all at all times should on mee
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For helpe and mercie call.
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My grace is sure full free and pure,
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Or else it were no grace,
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It can not stande at any hande,
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Where workes have any place:
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My power infailleable and most incomparable
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Is of no force in deede,
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When it is made of others aydes,
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To stande in any neede:
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Therefore I call the worst of all,
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And leave the righteous still,
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That all may see my grace to bee
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According to my will:
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Therefore I bring both Clowne and King
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To dust, to death, to nought:
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That every wight should knowe my might,
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All things alone hath wrought:
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Wherefore bee still and flee from ill,
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And doe well, but confesse
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My guiftes in thee both lent to bee,
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And marred more or lesse:
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That still my grace may serve in place
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All thy defaultes to mende,
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And that my power may every hower
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Upholde thee to the ende,
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When there shalbe no sinne in thee,
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Weaknes nor wante at all,
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But graces might, wealth, peace, joye, right,
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Health and glorie eternall.
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THus doest thou Lord direct my soule
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To quiet peace and reste,
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Whereby I am assured all
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Shall fall out to the beste:
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And that no shame can me defame,
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For why thou art my praise,
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In life and death and all in all,
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To me at all assaies,
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For thy great mercies sake in Christ,
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In whom thou art well pleased,
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That heavie harted sinners of
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Their burthens should be eased,
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And made partakers of those joyes
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Unspeakable and rife,
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Which thou doest keepe in store for them,
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After this wofull life:
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And in meane while the holy ghoste
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Doeth keepe them safe and sounde:
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No rage nor no resistance can,
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Their happie state confounde.
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Nowe whilest mine enimies seeke to drive
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Mee into desperation,
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Thou forcest them against their willes
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To further my salvation:
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And thou doest turne all wiles and wrongs
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Unto their owne disgrace:
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Who seeke by all extremities,
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Thy servauntes to deface.
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And thou doest turne all other things
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To my behoofe likewise,
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So that to better myne estate,
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My harte can not devise.
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However wretched worldlings deeme,
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I am quite cast awaye:
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And myne olde friendes aloofe from me
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Doe stande as at a baye:
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Yet thou doest stande at my right hande,
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And compasse me about,
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And furnishe me with divers giftes,
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To make me stronge and stout:
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And outwarde giftes sufficient,
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And meete for me and mine,
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To serve thy grace, and shewe thy power
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By providence divine:
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Beyonde reason without desert,
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Better then many moe
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Of thy deare Saintes who are content,
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And singe for joye also:
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