The Temple: Sacred Poems and Private Ejaculations/Repentance

by George Herbert

For works with similar titles, see Repentance.

¶ Repentance.

LOrd, I confesse my sinne is great;
Great is my sinne. Oh! gently treat
With thy quick flow'r, thy moment anie bloom;
Whose life still pressing
Is one undressing,
A steadie aiming at a tombe.

 Mans age is two houres work, or three:
 Each day doth round about us see.
Thus are we to delights: but we are all
To sorrows old,
If life be told
 From what life feeleth, Adams fall.

 O let thy height of mercy then
 Compassionate short-breathed men.
Cut me not off for my most foul transgression:
I do confesse
My foolishnesse;
 My God, accept of my confession.

 Sweeten at length this bitter bowl,
 Which thou hast pour'd into my soul:
Thy wormwood turn to health, windes to fair weather:
For if thou stay,
I and this day,
 As we did rise, we die together.

 When thou for sinne rebukest man,
 Forthwith he waxeth wo and wan:
Bitternesse fills our bowels; all our hearts
Pine and decay,
And drop away,
 And carrie with them th' other parts.

 But thou wilt sinne and grief destroy;
 That so the broken bones may joy,
And tune together in a well-set song,
Full of his praises,
Who dead men raises.
Fractures well cur'd make us more strong.

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