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The Church.
If all mens tears were letInto one common sewer, sea, and brine;What were they all, compar'd to thine?Wherein if they were set,They would discolour thy most bloudie sweat.
Thou art my grief alone,Thou Lord conceal it not: and as thou artAll my delight, so all my smart:Thy crosse took up in one,By way of imprest, all my future mone.
¶ Mattens.
I Cannot ope mine eyes,But thou art ready there to catchMy morning-soul and sacrifice:Then we must needs for that day make a match.
My God, what is a heart?Silver, or gold, or precious stone,Or starre, or rainbow, or a partOf all these things, or all of them in one?
My God, what is a heart,That thou shouldst it so eye, and wooe,Powring upon it all thy art,As if that thou hadst nothing els to do?
Indeed mans whole estateAmounts (and richly) to serve thee:He did not heav'n and earth create,Yet studies them, not him by whom they be.
Teach me thy love to know;That this new light, which now I see,May both the work and workman show:Then by a sunne-beam I will climbe to thee.
¶ Sinne
