Dear Jesu, when, when will it be,
That I no more shall break with Thee!
When will this war of passions cease;
And let my soul injoy thy peace!
Here I repent, and sin again;
Now I revive, and now am slain:
Slain with the same unhappy dart;
Which, O, too often wounds my hart.
When, dearest Lord, when shall I be
A garden seal'd to all but Thee!
No more expos'd, no more undone;
But live and grow to Thee alone.
'Tis not alas, on this low earth
That such pure flow'rs can find a birth:
Only they spring above the skys;
Where none can live, till here he dys.
Then let me dy, that I may go
And dwell where those bright lillys grow:
Where those blest plants of glory rise;
And make a safer Paradise.
No dangerous fruit, no tempting Eve,
No crafty Serpent, to deceive:
But we like Gods indeed shall be;
O let me dy, that life to see.
Thus says my song; but does my hart
Joyn with the words, and sing its part?
Am I so thorow-wise to chuse
The Other world, and this refuse?
Why should I not? what do I find
That fully here contents my mind?
What is this meat, and drink, and sleep,
That such poor things from heav'n should keep?
What is this honour, or great place
Or bag of mony, or fair face?
What's all the world that thus we shou'd
Still long to dwell with flesh and blood?
Fear not my soul, stand to the word,
Which thou hast sung to thy dear Lord:
Let but thy love be firm and true;
And with more heat thy wish renew.
O may this dying life make hast,
To dy into true life at last:
No hope have I to live before;
But then to live, and dy no more.
Great Everliving God! to Thee,
In Essence One, in Persons Three;
May all thy works their tribute bring,
And every age thy glory sing.