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LVIII

LONGING

With sick and famish'd eyes,

With doubling knees, and weary bones,

To Thee my cries,

To Thee my groans,

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 giddy: LORD, I fall,

Yet call.

Bowels of pity, hear;

LORD of my soul, love of my mind,

Bow down Thine ear;

Let not the wind

Scatter my words, and in the same

Thy name.

Look on my sorrows round;

Mark well my furnace. O, what flames,

What heats abound!

What griefs, what shames!

Consider, LORD; LORD, bow thine ear,

And hear!

LORD JESU, Thou didst bow

Thy dying head upon the tree;

O, be not now

More dead to me.

LORD, hear. Shall He that made the ear

Not hear?

44

To Thee help appertains:

Hast Thou left all things to their course,

And laid the reins

Upon the horse?

Is all lock'd? hath a sinner's plea

No key?

Thou tarriest, while I die,

And fall to nothing: Thou dost reign,

And rule on high,

While I remain

In bitter grief; yet am I styled

Thy child.

My Love, my Sweetness, hear:

By these Thy feet, at which my heart

Lies all the year,

Pluck out Thy dart,

And heal my troubled breast, which cries,

Which dies.

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