Sweet were the dayes, when thou didst lodge with Lot, Struggle with Jacob, sit with Gideon, Advise with Abraham, when thy power could not Encounter Moses' strong complaints and moan: Thy words were then, Let me alone. One might have sought and found thee presently At some fair oak, or bush, or cave, or well; Is my God this way? No, they would reply; He is to Sinai gone, as we heard tell: List, ye may heare great Aaron's bell. But now thou dost thyself immure and close In some one corner of a feeble heart: Where yet both Sinne and Satan, thy old foes, Do pinch and straiten thee, and use much art To gain thy thirds and little part. I see the world grows old, when as the heat Of thy great love once spread, as in an urn Doth closet up itself, and still retreat, Cold sinne still forcing it, till it return And calling Justice, all things burn.