88 BAXTER'S POEMS.· My bed shall be made soft by love ; And there I '11 take :my rest: Or else I '11 wake till I remove, ·where none dwell but the bless'd. What have I said? that I'll do ·this ? That am so false and weak ? And have so often done amiss, And did my covenants break? I mean, Lord, all this shall be done, If thou my heart wilt raise. And as the work must be thine own; · So also shall the praise. · THE LAMENTATION. JAN. 18, 1660-1 for Sin afflicting .the Sinner; especially by the grievous sufferings of Friends. With t)1e relief of the self-condemning soul. 0 MERCY, mercy, mercy! 0 my God.! . Must I feel nothing ~ut thy smarting rod? Must I be daily on the rack of fears, And have no drink to quench my thirst but tears? ·where is the spring that feeds this bitter stl'eam? That stops not, either when I wake or dream ? These worms of fear and grief, whose food 1 am, Into the world as brethren with me came. · Youthful diversions cast them once asleep, But light awaken'd them to bite more deep.
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