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The Church.
Had I many,
Had I any,
(For this heart is none)
All were thine
And none of mine;
Surely thine alone.
Had I any,
(For this heart is none)
All were thine
And none of mine;
Surely thine alone.
Yet thy favour
May give savour
To this poore oblation;
And it raise
To be thy praise,
And be my salvation.
May give savour
To this poore oblation;
And it raise
To be thy praise,
And be my salvation.
¶ Longing.
With sick and famisht eyes,
With doubling knees and weary bones,
To thee my cries,
To thee my grones,
To thee my sighs, my tears ascend:
No end?
With doubling knees and weary bones,
To thee my cries,
To thee my grones,
To thee my sighs, my tears ascend:
No end?
My throat, my soul is hoarse;
My heart is wither'd like a ground
Which thou dost curse.
My thoughts turn round,
And make me giddie; Lord, I fall,
Yet call.
My heart is wither'd like a ground
Which thou dost curse.
My thoughts turn round,
And make me giddie; Lord, I fall,
Yet call.
From thee all pitie flows.
Mothers are kinde, because thou art,
And dost dispose
To them a part:
Their infants them; and they suck thee
More free.
Mothers are kinde, because thou art,
And dost dispose
To them a part:
Their infants them; and they suck thee
More free.
Bowels
