A Meditation

Ah, Lord! Why hid'st thou now thy Face (from me? My Soul expects no Comfort but from thee; No Joy, but Grief; no Solace can be found, But Soul-distracting Sorrows still abound, Within my troubled Breast; if thou retire, Or hide thy Face, all my Delights expire. How can I live, except thy quick'ning Breath Breathe on me, and subdue the Power of Death? Ah, let my Heart thy Holy Ghost receive, That so a Resurrection from the Grave, I may not only know, but be renew'd In Strength, to press ev'n through a Multitude Of Tribulations, Lord, to-follow thee! Which if they sometimes as a Trial be, To prove the Love, whereto thou dost engage My Heart and Soul, in this backsliding Age, Let many Waters never quench the fame, But rather be as Oil pour'd on the Flame; Which quickens, not extinguisheth the Fire: So may these Trials rouse my dull Desire, Still more and more in Fervency to move And tend to thee, thou pure eternal Love; For, ah, the Warmth of thy enliv'ning Ray, Proclaims the Dawning of th' eternal Day; Which secretly encourages to bear These light Afflictions; for the Day draws near, Wherein shall be a Glory, far transcending These Griefs reveal'd, a Glory never ending. But, Lord, support me; there's no Trials can So far perplex, that on the outward Man May be impos'd; no Sorrow that can be Like the withdrawing of thyself from me: Thou only art the Solace of my Soul, To thee let my distressed Heart condole Her Troubles, for there's none like that, when thou With Frowns beclouds the Brightness of thy Brow, Or secretly with-holds the glorious Ray, Which is my Sun and Shield, my Strength & Stay; My chiefest Counsellor, mine All: Ah, then How can my Troubles be describ'd by Pen! The Threats of this vain World shall not afflict me, Except the Darling of my Soul reject me: For 'tis thine Absence is the greatest Grief, Thy loving Presence is a true Relief. O 'tis my long'd for Joy, mine only One! This Blessing therefore grant me, Lord, or none. O 'tis thy Love that thus engageth me, To wrestle with, and follow after thee! And though to prove me, thou mayst tarry long, Preserve in Patience, let me never wrong Thy Favours, so as once to entertain Another Lover, or to turn again In Heart to Egypt: Can her Garlick be Of any pleasant Savour now to me, Or any other Soul, that once had fed On Manna-Delicates, or Angels Bread? Which even in the Desart thou affords Abundantly, as holy Writ records Thou didst of old: No, no, 'twas Penury Enforced, in the Land of Slavery, To feed thereon. If thy indulgent Care Provide and feed my Soul with better Fare, Teach me to prize thy Love; 'tis now the same; To Israel's Seed, thou say'st not, Wait in vain; But thou appear'st, who always dost regard Thy breathing Babes, and with thee thy Reward Of inward Comforts known, with an Increase Of Joy, and Earnest of eternal Peace, To those that keep thy Covenant; to them Thy Promises are all Yea and Amen.