I KNOW my soul hath power to know all things,
Yet she is blind and ignorant in all:
I know I'm one of Nature's little kings,
Yet to the least and vilest things am thrall.
Oh what is man, great Maker of mankind!
That Thou to him so great respect dost bear;
That Thou adorn'st him with so bright a mind,
London now smokes with vapors that arise
From his foule sweat, himselfe he so bestirres :
'Cast out your dead!' the carcase-carrier cries,
Which he by heapes in groundlesse graves interres.—
To thee, my God, my Lord, my Jesus Christ,
Will I ascribe all glory, pow'r and grace ;
Thee will I serve, say pagans what they list,
And with the arms of love thee still embrace ;