VVIth sick and famisht eyes, With doubling knees and weary bones, To thee my cries, To thee my grones, To thee my sighs, my tears ascend: No end? My throat, my soul is hoarse; My heart is witherd like a ground Which thou dost curse. My thoughts turn round, And make me giddie; Lord, I fall, Yet call. From thee all pitie flows. Mothers are kinde, because thou art, And dost dispose To them a part: Their infants, them; and they suck thee More free. Bowels of pitie, hear! Lord of my soul, love of my minde, Bow down thine eare! Let not the winde 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 heare! Shall he that made the eare, Not heare? Behold, thy dust doth stirre, It moves, it creeps, it aims at thee: Wilt thou deferre To succour me, Thy pile of dust, wherein each crumme Sayes, Come? To thee help appertains. Hast thou left all things to their course, And laid the reins Upon the horse? Is all lockt? hath a sinners plea No key? Indeed the worlds thy book, Where all things have their leafe assignd: Yet a meek look Hath interlind. Thy board is full, yet humble guests Finde nests. Thou tarriest, while I die, And fall to nothing: thou dost reigne, And rule on high, While I remain In bitter grief; yet am I stild Thy childe. Lord, didst thou leave thy throne, Not to relieve? how can it be, That thou art grown Thus hard to me? Were sinne alive, good cause there were To bear. But now both sinne is dead, And all thy promises live and bide. That wants his head; These speak and chide, And in thy bosome poure my tears, As theirs. Lord JESU, heare my heart, Which hath been broken now so long, That evry part Hath got a tongue! Thy beggars grow; rid them away To day. My love, my sweetnesse, heare! By these thy feet, at which my heart Lies all the yeare, Pluck out thy dart, And heal my troubled breast which cries, Which dyes.
Professor's Note: The rhythm of the stanza should be appreciated. [See Music Interpretation below.]
Harmonica Sacra (1688) includes Henry Purcells setting of "Longing."
Music Interpretation: "Longing" in G minor for SATB and Organ, by Red Dragon
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