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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.
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