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Cheer up thy drooping spirits,

I am here.
Mine all-sufficient merits


Before the throne of glory

In thy stead:
I'll put into thy story

What I did.
Lift up thine eyes, sad soul, and see

, Thy Saviour here. Lo, I am he.

Alas ! shall I present

My sinfulness
To thee? thou wilt resent

The loathsomeness.
Be not afraid, I'll take

Thy Sins on me,
And all my favour make

To shine on thee.

Lord, what thou'lt have me, thou must make me. As I have made thee now, I take thee.


LORD, thou wilt love me. Wilt thou not?

Beshrew that not:

It was my sin begot
That question first : Yes, Lord, thou wilt :

Thy blood was spilt

To wash away my guilt, Lord, I will love thee. Shall I not?

Beshrew that not.

'Twas death's accursed plot To put that question ; Yes, I will,

Lord, love thee still,

In spite of all my ill.
Then life, and love continue still

We shall, and will,
My Lord and I, until,
In his celestial hill,

We love our fill,
When he hath purgèd all mine ill.


Said I not so, that I would sin no more?

Witness my God, I did ; Yet I am run again upon the score :

My faults cannot be hid.

What shall I do? Make vows, and break them still?

'Twill be but labour lost? My good cannot prevail against mine ill :

The business will be crost.

O, say not so: thou canst not tell what strength

Thy God may give thee at the length : Renew thy vows, and if thou keep the last,

Thy God will pardon all that's past. Vow, whilst thou canst; while thou canst vow, thou may'st Perhaps perform it, when thou thinkest least.

Thy God hath not denied thee all,
Whilst he permits thee but to call :
Call to thy God for grace to keep

Thy vows; and if thou break them, weep.
Weep for thy broken vows, and vow again :
Vows made with tears cannot be still in vain.

Then once again
I vow to mend my ways;

Lord, say Amen,
And thine be all the praise.

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Of lists, 1 Knot snarlèd ruffs,

Loose broken tufts

Of twists, Are my torn meditation's ragged clothing, Which, wound and woven shape a suit for nothing: One while I think, and then I am in pain To think how to unthink that thought again.

How can my soul

But famish

With this food? Pleasure's full bowl

Tastes ramish,2

Taints the blood. Profit picks bones,

And chews, on stones

That choke : Honour climbs hills,

Fats not, but fills

With smoke.
And whilst my thoughts are greedy upon these,
They pass by pearls, and stoop to pick up pease.
Such wash and draff is fit for none but swine :
And such I am not, Lord, if I am thine.

Clothe me anew, and feed me then afresh;
Else my soul dies famish'd, and starved with flesh.


1 Lists,' snarled ruffs,' &c.: old pieces of dress. - • Ramish :' what is called in Scotland • wersh,' i. e., tasteless.

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