by William Drummond
Too long I followed have my fond desire,
And too long painted on the ocean streams;
Too long refreshment sought amidst the fire,
And hunted joys, which to my soul were blames.
Ah! when I had what most I did admire,
And seen of life's delights the last extremes,
I found all but a rose hedged with a brier,
A nought, a thought, a show of mocking dreams.
Henceforth on Thee mine only good I'll think,
For only Thou canst grant what I do crave;
Thy nail my pen shall be, Thy blood mine ink,
Thy winding-sheet my paper, study grave;
And till that soul forth of this body fly,
No hope I'll have but only only Thee.
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