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In vain our labours are whatsoe'er they be,
Unless God gives the benedicite.

God, when He takes my goods and chattels hence,
Gives me a portion, giving patience:
What is in God is God; if so it be
He patience gives, He gives Himself to me.

God is all sufferance here; here He doth show
No arrow nockt, only a stringless bow:
His arrows fly, and all His stones are hurl'd
Against the wicked in another world.

God's bounty, that ebbs less and less
As men do wane in thankfulness.

God, as He's potent, so He's likewise known
To give us more than hope can fix upon.

God ne'er afflicts us more than our desert,
Though He may seem to overact His part:
Sometimes He strikes us more than flesh can bear;
But yet still less than grace can suffer here.