Salt Upon Salt, Hymn
A bitter-ſweet Paſsion of the Soul, Expreſſed in A HYMNE to GOD. By The ſame AUTHOR.
MY dear, my gracious GOD!
From me, Thy Face, why hideſt Thou?
Oh! why is Thy aboad
So far, ſo long, removed now?
See, how alone
(Now Thou art gone)
And helpleſs, I am left;
Of ev'ry thing
That joy may bring,
Heed, how I am bereft.
2. I, who but lately ſeem'd
Of many Friends belov'd to be,
And, ſo of ſome eſteem'd,
As if their Souls had liv'd in me;
(Though, nor neglect,
Nor diſ-reſpect,
Of them deſerv'd I have)
Am now, forlorn
As one unborn,
Or lodged in his Grave.
3. The lovely Deſart-Owl,
Which dares not fly abroad by Day;
That perſecuted Fowl,
For which the Fowler Snares doth lay;
Is not hipt at,
As I, of late,
By Wag-Tayls, Dawes and Crows.
Nor hardlyer ſcapes
His Gins and Traps
Who ſeeks her overthrows.
4. For, when with ſome Delight,
My heart began on Thee to muſe,
This World, forſook me ſtreight;
And, ever ſince, doth me abuſe.
To Hate and Scornes,
Her Love ſhe turns;
Her Friends, my Foes ſhe makes:
What ſland'rous Lies
She can deviſe,
Of me, ſhe faines, and ſpeakes.
5. And, now, with Vaunts and Brags,
That, ſhe, on me, aveng'd appears;
From me, her gaudy Rags,
With all her Gifts, away ſhe tears:
And not content
So to have rent
What was by her beſtown,
She would bereave
(With what ſhe gave)
Thoſe things, that are mine own.
6. She doth corrupt my Friends,
My Wrongs and Sorrows to increaſe;
Job's Comforters ſhe ſends,
To make more grievous my Diſtreſs:
To mind ſhe calls,
Things true and falſe,
Which may my Peace impair;
With whatſoe'er,
May make me fear,
And, let in Black Deſpair.
7. Not thoſe Defects alone,
For which, ſhe justly me ſuſpects,
(Or Duties left undone,)
To my Vexation, ſhe objects;
But, doth deviſe
How, ſhe likewiſe
May to my blame pervert,
What I deſign'd
With upright minde,
And ſingleneſs of heart.
8. And, (which augments my care)
My Selfneſs oft with her conſpires,
Which ere I am aware
Lets in falſe Fears, and vain deſires;
Which, taking part
Againſt my Heart,
Therein ſuch Tumults make,
That, ſometimes, they
Bear Spoiles away,
And, cauſe my Faith to ſhake.
9. Yet this affrights me more,
Then all their Malice, Force or Guile;
Thou, though I Thee implore,
Stand'ſt by, as Newter, all the while.
What ſhe hath done
Thou look'ſt upon,
And, knowſt what they intend;
Yet letst them ſtill
Purſue their Will,
As if Thou wert her Friend.
10. Oh! whither, or to whom
Can I for Health or Comfort fly?
If Thou, my Foe become,
Whereon, henceforth, ſhall I rely?
I hope may have
That in the Grave
Immortal Life may be;
And finde as well
A Heav'n in Hell,
As Joy in ought ſave Thee.
11. But, LORD, though in the dark,
And in contempt, thy ſervant lies;
On me there ſhines a Spark
Of Loving-kindneſs from Thine eyes:
Yea, though without
(Quite round about)
I am inclos'd with Sin,
Increaſing Foes,
Fears, Wars and Woes,
Thou, Peace preſerv'ſt within.
12. For, when I looked on
Thoſe Terrors which begirt me round,
I thought, Thou had'ſt been gone,
Becauſe no outward Hope I found.
Yet hid Thou wert
Within my Heart,
Still preſent, all the while,
And my late Fear
Doth falſe appear:
For, now I ſee Thee Smile.
FINIS.
End of the text · George Wither, Salt Upon Salt (1659)