I crawl, I creep; my Christ, I come
To Thee for curing balsamum:
Thou hast, nay more, Thou art the tree
Affording salve of sovereignty.
My mouth I'll lay unto Thy wound
Bleeding, that no blood touch the ground:
For, rather than one drop shall fall
To waste, my Jesu, I'll take all.
130. TO GOD.
God! to my little meal and oil
Add but a bit of flesh to boil:
And Thou my pipkinet shalt see,
Give a wave-off'ring unto Thee.
131. FREE WELCOME.
God He refuseth no man, but makes way
For all that now come or hereafter may.
132. GOD'S GRACE.
God's grace deserves here to be daily fed
That, thus increased, it might be perfected.
133. COMING TO CHRIST.
To him who longs unto his Christ to go,
Celerity even itself is slow.