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 quak'd for dread, 
And sullen clouds bound up his head. 
No, lay thy stately terrours by, 
To talke with me familiarly;
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,
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.