|
Made durt of dust, or that flesh which was worne |
By God, for his apparell, ragg'd, and torne? |
If on these things I durst not looke, durst I |
On his distressed mother cast mine eye, |
Who was Gods partner here, and furnish'd thus |
Halfe of that sacrifice which ransom'd us? |
Though these things as I ride be from mine eye, |
They'are present yet unto my memorie, |
For that lookes towards them; and thou look'st towards me, |
O Saviour, as thou hang'st upõ the tree; |
I turne my back to thee, but to receive |
Corrections till thy mercies bid thee leave. |
O think mee worth thine anger, punish me, |
Burne off my rust, and my deformitie, |
Restore thine Image, so much, by thy grace, |
That thou maist know me, and I'll turne my face. |
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THE LITANIE. |
I. |
The FATHER. |
|
Father of Heaven, and him, by whom |
It, and us for it, and all else, for us |
Thou madest and govern'st ever, come |
And re-create me, now growne ruinous: |
My heart is by dejection, clay, |
And by selfe-murder, red. |
From this red earth, ô Father, purge away |
All vicious tinctures, that new fashioned |
I may rise up from death, before I'am dead.
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[CW: II.] |