Lord, since thou didst in this vile clay That sacred ray Thy spirit plant, quick'ning the whole With that one grain's infused wealth, My forward flesh creeped on, and subtly stole Both growth and power; checking the health And heat of thine: that little gate And narrow way, by which to thee The passage is, he termed a grate And entrance to captivity; Thy laws but nets, where some small birds (And those but seldom too) were caught, Thy Promises but empty words Which none but children heard, or taught. This I believed: and though a friend Came oft from far, and whispered, @3No@1; Yet that not sorting to my end I wholly listened to my foe. Wherefore, pierced through with grief, my sad Seduced soul sighs up to thee, To thee who with true light art clad And seest all things just as they be. Look from thy throne upon this roll Of heavy sins, my high transgressions, Which I confess with all my soul, My God, accept of my confession. It was last day (Touched with the guilt of my own way) I sate alone, and taking up The bitter cup, Through all thy fair and various store Sought out what might outvie my score. The blades of grass, thy Creatures feeding, The trees, their leafs; the flowers, their seeding; The dust, of which I am a part, The stones much softer than my heart, The drops of rain, the sighs of wind, The stars to which I am stark blind, The dew thy herbs drink up by night, The beams they warm them at i' th' light, All that have signature or life, I summoned to decide this strife, And lest I should lack for arrears, A spring ran by, I told her tears, But when these came unto the scale, My sins alone outweighed them all. O my dear God! my life, my love! Most blessed lamb! and mildest dove! Forgive your penitent offender, And no more his sins remember, Scatter these shades of death, and give Light to my soul, that it may live; Cut me not off for my transgressions, Wilful rebellions, and suppressions, But give them in those streams a part Whose spring is in my Saviour's heart. Lord, I confess the heinous score, And pray, I may do so no more; Though then all sinners I exceed O think on this; @3Thy Son did bleed@1; O call to mind his wounds, his woes, His Agony, and bloody throes; Then look on all that thou hast made, And mark how they do fail and fade, The heavens themselves, though fair and bright, Are dark and unclean in thy sight, How then, with thee, can man be holy Who dost thine angels charge with folly? O what am I, that I should breed Figs on a thorn, flowers on a weed! I am the gourd of sin and sorrow Growing o'er night, and gone tomorrow; In all this @3round@1 of life and death Nothing's more vile than is my breath, Profaneness on my tongue doth rest, Defects and darkness in my breast, Pollutions all my body wed, And even my soul to thee is dead, Only in him, on whom I feast, Both soul and body are well dressed, His pure perfection quits all score, And fills the boxes of his poor; He is the Centre of long life and light, I am but finite, He is Infinite. O let thy @3Justice@1 then in him confine, And through his merits, make thy mercy mine! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...JUST & UNJUST by CHARLES SYNGE CHRISTOPHER BOWEN NAPEOLON'S FAREWELL; FROM THE FRENCH by GEORGE GORDON BYRON THE HOMERIC HEXAMETER [DESCRIBED AND EXEMPLIFIED] by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE THE SCRUTINY; SONG by RICHARD LOVELACE SUMMER'S LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT: A LITANY IN TIME OF PLAGUE by THOMAS NASHE THE RUBAIYAT, 1879 EDITION: 17 by OMAR KHAYYAM |