Chapter I

Thou hast made me, And shall thy worke decay?
Repaire me now, for now mine end doth haste,
I runne to death, and death meets me as fast,
And all my pleasures are like yesterday;
I dare not move my dimme eyes any way, 5
Despaire behind, and death before doth cast
Such terrour, and my feeble flesh doth waste
By sinne in it, which it t'wards hell doth weigh;
Onely thou art above, and when towards thee
By thy leave I can looke, I rise againe; 10
But our old subtle foe so tempteth me,
That not one houre my selfe I can sustaine;
Thy Grace may wing me to prevent his art,
And thou like Adamant draw mine iron heart.

[Holy Sonnets. _1633-69_ (_following_ La Corona _as second
group under the same general title_), _W:_ Devine Meditations.
_B_, _O'F_, _S96:_ _no title_, _A18_, _D_, _H49_, _N_, _TCC_,
_TCD_. _See note_]

[I. _1635-69_, _B_, _O'F_, _S96_, _W:_ _omitted_ _1633_,
_A18_, _D_, _H49_, _N_, _TCC_, _TCD_]

[4 yesterday; _Ed:_ yesterday, _1635-69_]

[7 feeble _1635-69:_ febled _B_, _O'F_, _S96_, _W_]

[12 my selfe I can _1635-69:_ I can myself _B_, _S96_, _W_

sustaine; _1669:_ sustaine, _1635-54_]