Lament XVII

God hath laid his hand on me:
He hath taken all my glee,
And my spirit’s emptied cup
Soon must give its life-blood up.
If the sun doth wake and rise,
If it sink in gilded skies,
All alike my heart doth ache,
Comfort it can never take.
From my eyelids there do flow
Tears, and I must weep e’en so
Ever, ever. Lord of Light,
Who can hide him from thy sight!