DO not beguile my heart,
                                       Because thou art
My power and wisdome. Put me not to shame,
                                       Because I am
              Thy clay that weeps, thy dust that calls.

                      Thou art the Lord of glorie;
                                       The deed and storie
Are both thy due: but I a silly flie,
                                       That live or die
              According as the weather falls.

                      Art thou all justice, Lord?
                                       Shows not thy work
More attributes? Am I all throat or eye,
                                       To weep or crie?
              Have I no parts but those of grief?

                      Let not thy wrathfull power
                                       Afflict my houre,
My inch of life: or let thy gracious power
                                       Contract my houre,
              That I may climbe and finde relief.