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I need not to confess my life,
For surely Thou canst tell
What I have been; and what I am,
Thou knowest very well.

So come I to the throne of grace,
Where mercy doth abound,
Desiring mercy for my sins,

To heal my deadly wound.

Mercy, O Lord! mercy I ask :
This is the total sum;

For mercy, Lord, is all my prayer:
Oh let Thy mercy come!


HERE is the Spring where waters flow, To quench our heat of sin :

Here is the tree where truth doth grow,

To lead our lives therein.

Here is the Judge that stints the strife,
Where men's devices fail :

Here is the bread that feeds the life,
That death cannot assail.

The tidings of salvation dear,

Come to our ears from hence;

The fortress of our faith is here,

And shield of our defence.

Then be not like the swine, that hath

A pearl at his desire,

And takes more pleasure in the trough,

And wallowing in the mire.

Read not this Book, in any case,
But with a single eye :

Read not, but first desire God's grace

To understand thereby.

Pray still in faith, with this respect,

To fructify therein;

That knowledge may bring this effect, To mortify thy sin.

Then happy thou in all thy life,
What so to thee befals;

Yea, doubly happy shalt thou be,

When God by death thee calls.


AND is there care in heaven? and is there love
In heavenly spirits to these creatures base,
That may compassion of their evils move?

There is; else much more wretched were the case
Of men than beasts. But oh! the exceeding grace
Of highest God! that loves his creatures so,
And all his works with mercy doth embrace,
That blessed angels He sends to and fro,
To serve to wicked man, to serve his wicked foe.

How oft do they their silver bowers leave
To come to succour us that succour want?
How oft do they with golden pinions cleave
The flitting skies, like flying pursuivant,
Against foul fiends to aid us militant?

They for us fight, they watch and duly ward,
And their bright squadrons round about us plant;
And all for love, and nothing for reward:

Oh! why should heavenly God to man have such regard!


SWEET day, so cool, so calm, so bright,
The bridal of earth and sky,

The dew shall weep thy fall to-night ;
For thou must die.

Sweet rose, whose hue angry and brave
Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye,
Thy root is ever in its grave,

And thou must die.

Sweet Spring, full of sweet days and roses,
A box where sweets compacted lie,
My music shews ye have your closes,
And all must die.

Only a sweet and virtuous soul,

Like season'd timber, never gives;

But though the whole world turn to a coal,
Then chiefly lives.

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