LOrd, with what bountie and rare clemencie
                  Hast thou redeem’d us from the grave!
                          If thou hadst let us runne,
                  Gladly had man ador’d the sunne,
                          And thought his god most brave;
Where now we shall be better gods then he.

Thou hast but two rare cabinets full of treasure,
                  The Trinitie, and Incarnation:
                          Thou hast unlockt them both,
                  And made them jewels to betroth
                          The work of thy creation
Unto thy self in everlasting pleasure.

The statelier cabinet is  the Trinitie, 
                  Whose sparkling light accesse denies:
                          Therefore thou dost not show
                  This fully to us, till death blow
                          The dust into our eyes:
For by that powder thou wilt make us see.

But all thy sweets are packt up in the other;
                  Thy mercies thither flock and flow:
                          That as the first affrights,
                  This may allure us with delights;
                          Because this box we know;
For we have all of us just such another.

But man is close, reserv’d, and dark to thee:
                  When thou demandest but a heart,
                          He cavils instantly.
                  In his poore cabinet of bone
                          Sinnes have their box apart,
Defrauding thee, who gavest two for one.