Come to me God ; but do not come
To me, as to the gen'rall Doome, 
In power; or come Thou in that state, 
When Thou Thy Lawes didst promulgate, 
When as the [Mountains]1 quak'd for dread, 
And sullen clouds bound up his head. 
[No, lay thy stately terrours by, 
To talke with me familiarly;]2
For if Thy thunder-claps I heare, 
I shall lesse swoone, then die for feare. 
Speake thou of love and I'le reply 
[By way of Epithalamie,]2
Or sing of mercy, and I'le suit 
To it my Violl and my Lute: 
Thus let Thy lips but love distill, 
Then come my God, and hap what will.