But storms, to write most Psalms God made him meet.
Affliction turn'd his Pen to Poetry,
Whose serious strains do here before thee lie.
This man with many griefs afflicted sore,
Shut up from speaking much in sickly Cave,
Thence painful seizure hath to write the more,
And send thee Counsels from the mouth o' th' Grave.
One foot i' th' other world long time hath been,
Read, and thou'lt say, His heart is all therein.
Oh, happy Cave, that's to mount Nebo turn'd!