To Heaven

Good and great GOD ! can I not think of thee,
But it must straight my melancholy be ?
Is it interpreted in me disease,
That, laden with my sins, I seek for ease ?
O be thou witness, that the reins dost know
And hearts of all, if I be sad for show ;
And judge me after : if I dare pretend
To aught but grace, or aim at other end.
As thou art all, so be thou all to me,
First, midst, and last, converted One, and Three !  
My faith, my hope, my love ; and in this state,
My judge, my witness, and my advocate.
Where have I been this while exiled from thee,
And whither rapt, now thou but stoop’st to me ?
Dwell, dwell here still !  O, being every where,
How can I doubt to find thee ever here ?
I know my state, both full of shame and scorn,
Conceived in sin, and unto labor born,
Standing with fear, and must with horror fall,
And destined unto judgment, after all.                    
I feel my griefs too, and there scarce is ground,
Upon my flesh t’ inflict another wound :
Yet dare I not complain, or wish for death,
With holy PAUL, lest it be thought the breath
Of discontent ;  or that these prayers be
For weariness of life, not love of thee.

- Ben Jonson