Come, my Joy, my Love, my Heart :
Such a Joy, as none can move :
Such a Love, as none can part:

Such a Heart, as joys in love.

CLASPING OF HANDS.

LORD, thou art mine, and I am thine,
If mine I am: and thine much more,
Than I or ought, or can be mine.
Yet to be thine, doth me restore;
So that again I now am mine,
And with advantage mine the more.
Since this being mine, brings with it thine,
And thou with me dost thee restore.
If I without thee would be mine,
I neither should be mine nor thine.

Lord, I am thine, and thou art mine :
So mine thou art, that something more
I may presume thee mine, than thine.
For thou didst suffer to restore
Not thee, but me, and to be mine:
And with advantage mine the more,
Since thou in death wast none of thine,
Yet then as mine didst me restore.

O be mine still! still make me thine;
Or rather make no Thine and Mine!

PRAISE.

LORD, I will mean and speak thy praise,
Thy praise alone.

My busy heart shall spin it all my days:

And when it stops for want of store, Then will I wring it with a sigh or groan, That thou may'st yet have more.

When thou dost favour any action,
It runs, it flies:

All things concur to give it a perfection.

That which had but two legs before,

When thou dost bless, hath twelve: one wheel doth rise To twenty then, or more.

But when thou dost on business blow,

It hangs, it clogs :

Not all the teams of Albion in a row

Can hale or draw it out of door.

Legs are but stumps, and Pharaoh's wheels but logs,
And struggling hinders more.

Thousands of things do thee employ
In ruling all

This spacious Globe: Angels must have their joy,
Devils their rod, the sea his shore,

The winds their stint and yet when I did call,
Thou heardst my call, and more.

Come, my Joy, my Love, my Heart:
Such a Joy, as none can move :
Such a Love, as none can part:
Such a Heart, as joys in love.

CLASPING OF HANDS.

LORD, thou art mine, and I am thine,
If mine I am and thine much more,
Than I or ought, or can be mine.
Yet to be thine, doth me restore;
So that again I now am mine,
And with advantage mine the more.
Since this being mine, brings with it thine,
And thou with me dost thee restore.
If I without thee would be mine,
I neither should be mine nor thine.

Lord, I am thine, and thou art mine:
So mine thou art, that something more
I may presume thee mine, than thine.
For thou didst suffer to restore
Not thee, but me, and to be mine:
And with advantage mine the more,
Since thou in death wast none of thine,
Yet then as mine didst me restore.

O be mine still! still make me thine;
Or rather make no Thine and Mine!

PRAISE.

LORD, I will mean and speak thy praise,
Thy praise alone.

My busy heart shall spin it all my days:

And when it stops for want of store, Then will I wring it with a sigh or groan, That thou may'st yet have more.

When thou dost favour any action,
It runs, it flies:

All things concur to give it a perfection.

That which had but two legs before,

When thou dost bless, hath twelve: one wheel doth rise To twenty then, or more.

But when thou dost on business blow,

It hangs, it clogs :

Not all the teams of Albion in a row

Can hale or draw it out of door.

Legs are but stumps, and Pharaoh's wheels but logs,
And struggling hinders more.

Thousands of things do thee employ
In ruling all

This spacious Globe: Angels must have their joy,
Devils their rod, the sea his shore,

The winds their stint and yet when I did call,
Thou heardst my call, and more.

I have not lost one single tear:

But when mine eyes

Did weep to heaven, they found a bottle there
(As we have boxes for the poor)
Ready to take them in; yet of a size
That would contain much more.

But after thou hadst slipt a drop

From thy right eye

(Which there did hang like streamers near the top
Of some fair Church, to show the sore
And bloody battle which thou once didst try),
The glass was full, and more.

Wherefore I sing. Yet since my heart,

Though press'd, runs thin;

O that I might some other hearts convert,
And so take up at use good store :

That to thy chests there might be coming in
Both all my praise, and more!

JOSEPH'S COAT.

WOUNDED I sing, tormented I indite,

Thrown down I fall into a bed, and rest: Sorrow hath changed its note: such is His will Who changeth all things, as him pleaseth best.

For well he knows, if but one grief and smart. Among my many had his full career, Sure it would carry with it even my heart, And both would run until they found a bier