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The Temple: Sacred Poems and Private Ejaculations/Ephes. 4. 30.

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Ephes. 4. 30.
Grieve not the Holy Spirit, &c.

ANd art thou grieved, sweet and sacred Dove,When I am sowre,And crosse thy love?Grieved for me? the God of strength and powerGriev'd for a worm, which when I tread,I passe away and leave it dead?
Then weep mine eyes, the God of love doth grieve:Weep foolish heart,And weeping live:For death is drie as dust. Yet if ye part,End as the night, whose sable hueYour sinnes expresse; melt into dew.
When sawcie mirth shall knock or call at doore,Crie out, Get hence,Or crie no more.Almightie God doth grieve, he puts on sense:I sinne not to my grief alone,But to my Gods too; he doth grone.
Oh take thy lute, and tune it to a strain,Which may with theeAll day complain.There can no discord but in ceasing be.Marbles can weep; and surely stringsMore bowels have then such hard things.
Lord, I adjudge my self to tears and grief,Ev’n endlesse tearsWithout relief.If a cleare spring for me no time forbears,But runnes, although I be not drie;I am no Crystall, what shall I?
Yet if I wail not still, since still to wailNature denies;And flesh would fail,If my deserts were masters of mine eyes:Lord, pardon, for thy sonne makes goodMy want of tears with store of bloud.