O What Shall I Do To Retrieve


O what shall I do to retrieve
The Love for a Season bestow’d:
‘Tis better to die than to live
Exil’d from the Presence of God:
With Sorrow distracted and Doubt,
With palpable Horror opprest,
The City I wander about,
And seek my Repose in his Breast.

Ye Watchmen of Israel, declare
If ye my beloved have seen,
And point to that heav’nly fair,
Surpassing the Children of Men:
My Love and Lord from above,
Who only can quiet my Pain,
Whom only I languish to love,
O where shall I find him again?

The Joy and Desire of mine Eyes,
The End of my Sorrow and woe;
My Hope, and my Heav’nly Prize,
My Height of Ambition below:
Once more if he shew me his Face,
He never again shall depart,
Detain’d in my closest Embrace,
Conceal’d in the Depth of my Heart.