George Herbert

Affliction (II)

		KIll me not ev'ry day,
Thou Lord of life; since thy one death for me
	Is more then all my deaths can be,
		Though I in broken pay
Die over each houre of Methusalems stay.

		If all mens tears were let
Into one common sewer, sea, and brine;
	What were they all, compar'd to thine?
		Wherein if they were set,
They would discolour thy most bloudie sweat.

		Thou art my grief alone,
Thou Lord conceal it not: and as thou art
	All my delight, so all my smart:
		Thy crosse took up in one,
By way of imprest, all my future mone.