1 Seeke the Lord, and in his wayes perseuer :
O faint not, but as Eagles flye,
For his steepe hill is high ;
Then striuing gaine the top, and triumph euer.
2 Whe with glory there thy browes are crowned,
New ioyes so shall abound in thee,
Such sights thy soule shall see,
That worldly thoughts shall by their beames be drowned.
3 Farewell World, thou masse of meere confusion,
False light with many shadowes dimm'd,
Old Witch with new foyles trimm'd,
Thou deadly sleepe of soule, and charm'd illusion.
4 I the King will seeke of Kings adored,
Spring of light, tree of grace and blisse,
Whose fruit so sou'raigne is,
That all who taste it are from death restored.
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