Tell me, some Pitying Angel quickly say,
Where does my Soul's sweet Darling Stay?
In Tyger's, or more cruel Herod's way?
Ah! rather let his little Footsteps press
Unregarded through the Wilderness,
Where milder Savages resort,
The desert's safer than a Tyrant's Court.
Why, fairest Object of my Love,
Why dost thou from my longing Eyes remove?
Was it a Waking Dream, that did fortell thy Wondrous Birth?
No Vision from above?
Where's Gabriel now, that visited my cell?
I call, I call: Gabriel!
He comes not; flatt'ring Hopes, farewell.
Me Judah's Daughters once caress'd.
Call'd me of Mothers, the most bless'd.
Now - fatal Change - of Mothers most distress'd.
How shall my Soul its Motions guide?
How shall I stem the various tide,
Whilst Faith and Doubt my Lab'ring Soul divide?
For whilst of thy dear Sight beguil'd,
I trust the God, but oh! I fear the Child.