The Temple: Sacred Poems and Private Ejaculations/Repentance
For works with similar titles, see Repentance.
¶ Repentance.
LOrd, I confesse my sinne is great;Great is my sinne. Oh! gently treatWith thy quick flow'r, thy moment anie bloom;Whose life still pressingIs 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 allTo 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 confesseMy 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 heartsPine 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.