FullReads

In August, of 1669

As weary pilgrim now at rest,
Hugs with delight his silent nest
His wasted limbes now lye full soft
That myrie steps have trodden oft.
Blesses himself to think upon
his dangers past, and travails done.
The burning sun no more shall heat
Nor stormy raines on him shall beat.
The bryars and thornes no more shall scratch,
nor hungry wolves at him shall catch
He erring pathes no more shall tread
nor wilde fruits eate, instead of bread
for waters cold he doth not long
for thirst no more shall parch his tongue.
No rugged stones his feet shall gaule,
nor stumps nor rocks cause him to fall.
All cares and feares, he bids farewell
and meanes in safity now to dwell.
A pilgrim I, on earth, perplext,
Wth sinns wth cares and sorrovys vext
By age and paines brought to decay.
And my Clay house mouldring away
Oh how I long to be at rest
and soare on high among the blesst.
This body shall in silence sleep
Mine eyes no more shall ever weep
No fainting fits shall me assaile
nor grinding paines my body fraile
Wth cares and fears n’er cumbred be
Nor losses know, nor sorrows see
What tho my flesh shall there consume
it is the bed Christ did perfume
And when a few yeares shall be gone
this mortall shall be cloth’d upon
A corrupt Carcasse ddwne it lyes
A glorious body it shall rise
In weakness and dishonour sowne
in power ’tis rais’d by Christ alone
When soule and body shall unite
and of their maker have the sight
Such lasting joyes shall there behold
as care ne’r heard nor tongue e’er told
Lord make me ready for that day
then Come dear bridegrome, Come away.