¶ Repentance.
LOrd, I confesse my sinne is great; Great is my sinne. Oh! gently treat With thy quick flowr, thy momentarie bloom; Whose life still pressing Is 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 all To sorrows old, If like be told From what life feeleth, Adams fall. O let thy height of mercie then Compassionate short-breathed men. Cut me not off for my most foul transgression: I do confesse My foolishnesse; My God, accept of my confession. Sweeten at length this bitter bowl, Which thou hast pourd 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 hearts Pine, 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 curd make us more strong. |
Student note: "well-set" is a pun meaning both well written music and properly set fracture. |
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