O Thou that sitt’st in heaven, and see’st
My deeds without, my thoughts within,
Be Thou my Prince, be Thou my Priest;
Command my soul, and cure my sin:
How bitter my afflictions be
I care not, so I rise to Thee.
What I possess, or what I crave,
Brings no content, great God, to me,
If what I would, or what I have,
Be not possessed and blest in Thee:
What I enjoy, O make it mine
In making me, that have it, thine.
When winter-fortunes cloud the brows
Of summer friends; when eyes grow strange;
When plighted faith forgets its vows:
When earth and all things in it change;
O Lord! thy mercies fail me never;
Where once Thou lov’st, Thou lov’st for ever.
(John Quarles)
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