Since, Lord, to thee

A narrow way and little gate

Is all the passage, on my infancy

Thou didst lay hold, and antedate

My faith in me.

O let me still

Write thee great God, and me a child:

Let me be soft and supple to thy will,

Small to my self, to others mild,

Behither ill.

Although by stealth

My flesh get on, yet let her sister

My soul bid nothing, but preserve her wealth:

The growth of flesh is but a blister;

Childhood is health.