Deliverance From Another Sore Fit

By Anne Bradstreet

    In my distress I sought the Lord
    When naught on earth could comfort give,
    And when my soul these things abhorred,
    Then, Lord, Thou said’st unto me, “Live.”

    Thou knowest the sorrows that I felt;
    My plaints and groans were heard of Thee,
    And how in sweat I seemed to melt
    Thou help’st and Thou regardest me.

    My wasted flesh Thou didst restore,
    My feeble loins didst gird with strength,
    Yea, when I was most low and poor,
    I said I shall praise Thee at length.

    What shall I render to my God
    For all His bounty showed to me?
    Even for His mercies in His rod,
    Where pity most of all I see.

    My heart I wholly give to Thee;
    O make it fruitful, faithful Lord.
    My life shall dedicated be
    To praise in thought, in deed, in word.

    Thou know’st no life I did require
    Longer than still Thy name to praise,
    Nor ought on earth worthy desire,
    In drawing out these wretched days.

    Thy name and praise to celebrate,
    O Lord, for aye is my request.
    O grant I do it in this state,
    And then with Thee, which is the best.

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