THE BLACKWELL TUNE

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Like as the hart doth pant and bray
The well-springs to obtain:
So doth my soul desire alway
With thee, Lord, to remain.

My soul doth thirst, and would draw near
The living God of might:
Oh when shall I come and appear
In the presence of thy sight?

The tears are all times my repast
Which from my eyes do slide;
Whilst wicked men cry out so fast,
"Where now is God thy guide?"

Alas, what grief it is to think
The freedom once I had:
Therefore my soul, as at pit's brink,
Most heavy is and sad.