My wand'rings all what they have been thou know'st, their number took; Into thy bottle put my tears: are they not in thy book?
Attend my cry, Lord, at my tears and pray'rs not silent be: I sojourn as my fathers all, and stranger am with thee.
Thine eyes my substance did behold, yet being unperfect; And in the volume of thy book my members all were writ; Which after in continuance were fashion'd ev'ry one, When as they yet all shapeless were, and of them there was none.
Henceforth thy going out and in God keep for ever will.