IZAAK WALTON AND HIS FRIENDS 227 



Hymn to God, my God, in my Sickness 



Since I am coming to that holy room, 

 Where with Thy choir of saints for evermore, 

 I shall be made Thy music ; as I come 

 I tune the instrument here at the door, 

 And what I must do then, think here before ; 



AVhilst my physicians by their love are grown 

 Cosmographers, and I their map, who lie 

 Flat on this bed, that by them may be shown 

 That this is my south-west discovery, 

 Per fretum febris, by these straits to die ; 



I joy, that in these straits I see my West ; 

 For, though those currents yield return to none. 

 What shall my West hurt me ? As west and east 

 In all flat maps — and I am one — are one, 

 So death doth touch the Resurrection. 



Is the Pacific Sea my home ? Or are 



The eastern riches ? Is Jerusalem ? 



An van, and Magellan, and Gibraltar 



All straits, and none but straits, are ways to them 



Whether where Japhet dwelt, or Ham, or Shem, 



We think that Paradise and Calvary, 

 Christ's cross and Adam's tree, stood in one place ; 

 Look, Lord, and find both Adams met in me ; 

 As the first Adam's sweat surrounds my face, 

 May the last Adam's blood my soul embrace. 



