Since, Lord, to thee
                    A narrow way and little gate
Is all the passage, on my infancie
                    Thou didst lay hold, and antedate
                                      My faith in me.

                                      O let me still
                    Write thee great God, and me a childe:
Let me be soft and supple to thy will,
                    Small to my self, to others milde,
                                      Behither ill.

                                      Although by stealth
                    My flesh get on ; yet let her sister
My soul bid nothing, but preserve her wealth:
                    The growth of flesh is but a blister;
                                      Childhood is health.