Upon some distemper of body
Anne Bradstreet
1612 to 1672
In anguish of my heart repleat with woes,
And wasting pains, which best my body knows,
In tossing slumbers on my wakeful bed,
Bedrencht with tears that flow'd from mournful head,
Till nature had exhausted all her store,
Then eyes lay dry, disabled to weep more;
And looking up unto his Throne on high,
Who sendeth help to those in misery;
He chac'd away those clouds, and let me see
My Anchor cast i'th' vale with safety.
He eas'd my Soul of woe, my flesh of pain,
And brought me to the shore from troubled Main.
Anne Bradstreet's Upon some distemper of body
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