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Thou mighteſt then have turned wrath
To mercy then, and mercy great,
But now the Lord is very loth,
And all thy cries not worth a jot.

Ah Peter then what ſhall I do?
He will not hear me, as I fear,
Shall I deſpair of mercy too!
No, no, I'll truſt in mercy dear:
And if I periſh here I'll ſtay,
And never go from heaven bright;
I'll ever hope but always pray,
Until I get my Saviour's ſight.

I think indeed now you are right,
If ye had faith you could win in;
Importune then with all your might,
Faith is the feet wherewith ye come:
It is the hands will hold him faſt,
But weak faith never may preſume;
'Twill let you ſink and be aghaſt,
Strongly believe or you're undone.

But good ſaint Peter let me be,
Had you ſuch faith, did it abound?
When you did walk upon the ſea,
Were you not likely to be drown'd?
Had not your Saviour helped thee,
Who came and took thee by the hand,
So can my Lord do unto me,
And bring me to the promis'd land,
Is my faith weak? yet he is ſtill
The ſame, and ever ſhall remain;
His mercies laſt, and his good-will,
To bring me to his flock again;