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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 heav'ns, 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 crum of dust from heav'n 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
ev'ry where.
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