On My Son's Return Out Of England, July 17, 1661. - Poem by Anne Bradstreet
All Praise to him who hath now turn'd
My feares to Joyes, my sighes to song,
My Teares to smiles, my sad to glad:
He's come for whom I waited long.
Thou di'st preserve him as he went;
In raging stormes did'st safely keep:
Did'st that ship bring to quiet Port.
The other sank low in the Deep.
From Dangers great thou did'st him free
Of Pyrates who were neer at hand;
And order'st so the adverse wind,
That he before them gott to Land.
In covntry strange thou did'st provide,
And freinds rais'd him in euery Place;
And courtesies of svndry sorts
From such as 'fore nere saw his face.
In sicknes when he lay full sore,
His help and his Physitian wer't;
When royall ones that Time did dye,
Thou heal'dst his flesh, and cheer'd his heart.
From troubles and Incúbers Thov,
Without (all fraud), did'st sett him free,
That, without scandall, he might come
To th'Land of his Nativity.
On Eagles wings him hether brovght
Thro: Want and Dangers manifold;
And thvs hath gravnted my Reqvest,
That I thy Mercyes might behold.
O help me pay my Vowes, O Lord!
That ever I may thankfull bee,
And may putt him in mind of what
Tho'st done for him, and so for me.
In both our hearts erect a frame
Of Duty and of Thankfullnes,
That all thy favours great receiv'd,
Oure vpright walking may expresse.
O Lord, gravnt that I may never forgett thy Loving kindnes in this Particular, and how gratiovsly thov hast answered my Desires.
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