Decay
Sweet
were
the
dayes,
when
thou
didst
lodge
with
Lot,
Struggle
with
Jacob,
sit
with
Gideon,
Advise
with
Abraham,
when
thy
power
could
not
Encounter
Moses'
strong
complaints
and
moan:
Thy
words
were
then,
Let
me
alone.
One
might
have
sought
and
found
thee
presently
At
some
fair
oak,
or
bush,
or
cave,
or
well;
Is
my
God
this
way?
No,
they
would
reply;
He
is
to
Sinai
gone,
as
we
heard
tell:
List,
ye
may
heare
great
Aaron's
bell.
But
now
thou
dost
thyself
immure
and
close
In
some
one
corner
of
a
feeble
heart:
Where
yet
both
Sinne
and
Satan,
thy
old
foes,
Do
pinch
and
straiten
thee,
and
use
much
art
To
gain
thy
thirds
and
little
part.
I
see
the
world
grows
old,
when
as
the
heat
Of
thy
great
love
once
spread,
as
in
an
urn
Doth
closet
up
itself,
and
still
retreat,
Cold
sinne
still
forcing
it,
till
it
return
And
calling
Justice,
all
things
burn.
