A Parodie

Soul's joy, when thou art gone,
And I alone,
Which cannot be,
Because thou dost abide with me,
And I depend on thee;
Yet when thou dost suppresse
The cheerfulnesse
Of thy abode,
And in my powers not stirre abroad,
But leave me to my load:
O what a damp and shade
Doth me invade!
No stormie night
Can so afflict or so affright
As thy eclipsed light.
Ah Lord! do not withdraw,
Lest want of aw
Make sinne appear;
And when thou dost but shine lesse cleare,
Say, that thou art not here.
And then what life I have,
While Sinne doth rave,
And falsely boast,
That I may seek, but thou art lost;
Thou and alone thou know'st.
O what a deadly cold
Doth me infold!
I half beleeve,
That Sinne says true: but while I grieve,
Thou com'st and dost relieve.