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Poem	Broken in pieces all asunder, Lord, hunt me not, A thing forgot, Once a poor creature, now a wonder, A wonder tortur'd in the space Betwixt this world and that of grace. My thoughts are all a case of knives, Wounding my heart With scatter'd smart, As wat'ring pots give flowers their lives. Nothing their fury can control, While they do wound and prick my soul. All my attendants are at strife, Quitting their place Unto my face: Nothing performs the task of life: The elements are let loose to fight, And while I live, try out their right. Oh help, my God! let not their plot Kill them and me, And also thee, Who art my life: dissolve the knot, As the sun scatters by his light All the rebellions of the night. Then shall those powers, which work for grief, Enter thy pay, And day by day Labour thy praise, and my relief; With care and courage building me, Till I reach heav'n, and much more, thee.
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