The Temper (II)

It cannot be. Where is that mightie joy,
Which just now took up all my heart?
Lord! if thou must needs use thy dart,
Save that, and me; or sin for both destroy.
The grosser world stands to thy word and art;
But thy diviner world of grace
Thou suddenly doth raise and race,
And ev'ry day a new Creatour art.
O fix thy chair of grace, that all my powers
May also fix their reverence:
For when thou dost depart from hence,
They grow unruly, and sit in thy bowers.
Scatter, or binde them all to bend to thee:
Though elements change, and heaven move;
Let not thy higher court remove,
But keep a standing majestie in me.