The onely Comforter.
WHat in this world doe I deerer esteem?
Or greater in my minde, here still do deem?
Then that Spirit which floweth still from thee,
Which makes my soule in happy blisse to be?
For nothing in this world, here can me please,
Nor yet my Soule, from paine and grief can ease:
But thy sweet spirit which abides for aye,
For these vaine worldly things, doe fade away.
My soul immortall, did proceed from thee,
And pleas'd with mortall things, she cannot bee.
You earthly pleasures, I can use you all,
But treasures of my soule, Ile not you call.
Goe flee vaine pleasures, for sure all must grant,
Nought can us please, but what is permanent.
In thee my Lord, my soul alone is blest,
In thee alone, I doe attaine sweet rest.