How should I praise thee, Lord! how should my rhymes
Gladly engrave thy
love in steel,
If what my soul
doth feel sometimes,
My soul might ever feel!
Although there were some forty heavens, or
more,
Sometimes I peer
above them all;
Sometimes I hardly
reach a score;
Sometimes to hell I fall.
O rack me not to such a vast extent;
Those distances belong to
thee:
The world's too little for thy
tent,
A
grave too big for me.
Wilt thou meet arms with man, that thou dost stretch
A crumb of dust from heaven to
hell?
Will great God measure with a
wretch?
Shall
he thy stature spell?
O let me, when thy roof my soul hath hid,
O let me roost and nestle
there:
Then of a sinner thou art rid,
And I
of hope and fear.
Yet take thy way; for sure thy way is best:
Stretch or contract me thy
poor debtor:
This is but tuning of my
breast,
To
make the music better.
Whether I fly with angels, fall with dust,
Thy hands made both, and I am
there;
Thy power and love, my love
and trust,
Make
one place everywhere.
