BAXTER'S . POEMS'. I left it light, but now's all"dark ,. And I am fain to grope: Were it not for one little spark, I should be. out of hope . 'rhe rooms I carefully did sweep; · But now I 'find all foul: ' Serpents do crawl, and vermin creep, In my polluted soul. My Gospel-book I open left, ·where I the promise saw : But now I doubt it ' s' lost by theft ~ I find none but the Law. And when my .soul I had undress'd , And thought some ease to find ~ l found distress instead of rest, 'Through anguish of my mind . For thorns were put into my bed , Where I was wont to sleep : Grief is the pUlow for my head, On which I lie and weep. And if I slumber, up I start: My dreams awake my fears : The thorns have pierced head and heart; And drawn forth more than tears. ''fhe stormy rain an entrance bath, Through ,the uncover'd top: How should I rest when showers of wrath Upon my conscience d:t:op ?