Page:The works of Anne Bradstreet in prose and verse.djvu/478

 392 Anne Bradji reefs Works.

O Bubble blaft, how long can'll laft? [238]

that alwayes art a breaking, No fooner blown, but dead and gone,

ev'n as a word that's fpeaking. O whil'ft I live, this grace me give,

I doing good ma}^ be, Then deaths arreft I iliall count beft,

becaufe it's thy decree; Beftow much coft there's nothing loft,

to make Salvation lure, O great's the gain, though got with pain,

comes by profeffion pure. The race is run, the field is won,

the vi6tory's mine I fee. For ever know, thou envious foe,

the foyle belongs to thee.

Vpon fome dijleniper of body.

In anguifli of my heart repleat with woes,

And wafting pains, which beft my body knows,

In tofling flumbers on my wakeful bed,

Bedrencht with tears that flow'd from mournful head.

Till nature had exhaufted all her ftore,

Then eyes lay dry, difabled to weep more;

And looking up unto his Throne on high.

Who fendeth help to thofe in mifery;

He chac'd away thofe clouds, and let me fee

My Anchor caft i'th' vale with fafet}^

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