From being anxious, or secure

  From being anxious, or secure, 
Dead clods of sadness, or light squibs of mirth, 
  From thinking that great courts immure 
All, or no happiness, or that this earth 
              Is only for our prison framed, 
              Or that Thou’rt covetous 
To them whom Thou lovest, or that they are maim’d 
From reaching this world’s sweet who seek Thee 
      thus, 
With all their might, good Lord, deliver us.