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 graceThou suddenly dost raise and race,And ev'ry day a new Creatour art.

O fix thy chair of grace, that all my powersMay 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.