SICKNESS
GIVES
A
Sight
of
HEAVEN
.
I.
OFT
have
I
sat
in
Secret
Sighs
To
feel
my
Flesh
decay
,
Then
groan'd
aloud
with
frighted
Eyes
To
view
this
tott'ring
Clay
.
II
.
But
I
forbid
my
Sorrows
now
,
Nor
dares
the
Flesh
complain
,
Diseases
bring
their
Profit
too
;
The
Joy
o'recomes
the
Pain
.
III
.
My
chearful
Soul
now
all
the
Day
Sits
waiting
here
and
Sings
;
Looks
thro'
the
Ruins
of
her
Clay
,
And
practises
her
Wings
.
IV
.
Faith
almost
changes
into
Sight
,
While
from
afar
she
Spies
Her
fair
Inheritance
in
Light
Above
created
Skies
.
V.
Had
but
the
Prison-Walls
been
strong
,
And
firm
without
a
flaw
,
In
Darkness
she
had
dwelt
too
long
,
And
less
of
Glory
saw
.
VI
.
But
now
the
Everlasting
Hills
Thro'
every
Chink
appear
,
And
something
of
the
Joy
she
feels
While
she's
a
Pris'ner
here
.
VII
.
The
Shines
of
Heaven
rush
sweetly
in
At
all
the
Gaping
Flaws
,
Visions
of
Endless
Bliss
are
seen
,
And
Native
Air
she
draws
.
VIII
.
O
may
these
Walls
stand
tott'ring
still
,
The
Breaches
never
close
,
If
I
must
here
in
Darkness
dwell
,
And
all
this
Glory
lose
.
IX
.
Or
rather
let
this
Flesh
decay
,
The
Ruins
wider
grow
,
Till
glad
to
see
the
Enlarged
way
I
stretch
my
Pinions
thro'
.