When like a scrowle the heavens shal passe
And vanish cleane away,
And nought must stand of that vast space
Which held up night, and day,
When one lowd blast shall rend the deepe,
And from the wombe of earth
Summon up all that are asleepe
Unto a second birth,
When thou shalt make the Clouds thy seate,
And in the open aire
The Quick, and dead, both small and great
Must to thy barre repaire;
O then it wilbe all too late
To say, what shall I doe?
Repentance there is out of date
And so is mercy too;
Prepare, prepare me then, O God!
And let me now begin
To feele my loving fathers Rod
Killing the man of sinne!
Give me, O give me Crosses here,
Still more afflictions lend,
That pill, though bitter, is most deare
That brings health in the end;
Lord, God! I beg nor friends, nor wealth
But pray against them both;
Three things I'de have, my soules chief health!
And one of these seme loath,
A living FAITH, a HEART of flesh,
The WORLD an Enemie,
This last will keepe the first two fresh,
And bring me, where I'de be.