Poem by Anne Bradstreet

Deliverance from Another Sore Fit

In my distress I sought the Lord 
When naught on earth could comfort give, 
And when my soul these things abhorred, 
Then, Lord, Thou said’st unto me, ”Live.”

Thou knowest the sorrows that I felt; 
My plaints and groans were heard of Thee, 
And how in sweat I seemed to melt 
Thou help’st and Thou regardest me.

My wasted flesh Thou didst restore, 
My feeble loins didst gird with strength, 
Yea, when I was most low and poor, 
I said I shall praise Thee at length.

What shall I render to my God 
For all His bounty showed to me? 
Even for His mercies in His rod, 
Where pity most of all I see.

My heart I wholly give to Thee; 
O make it fruitful, faithful Lord. 
My life shall dedicated be 
To praise in thought, in deed, in word.

Thou know’st no life I did require 
Longer than still Thy name to praise, 
Nor ought on earth worthy desire, 
In drawing out these wretched days.

Thy name and praise to celebrate, 
O Lord, for aye is my request. 
O grant I do it in this state, 
And then with Thee, which is the best.

1. To Her Most Honoured Father Thomas Dudley Esq; These Humbly Presented
2. For Deliverance from a Feaver
3. Deliverance from a Fit of Fainting
4. For the Restoration of My Dear Husband from a Burning Ague, June, 1661
5. An Apology

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