XLVIII. —— Jerom

HERE’S a fit obiect for thy loue and merits,—

A thirsty soule desires a sweete refreshing,

Whose birth-sinne by his father’s claime inherits

Hell as right heire—much more by his transgressions:

Heere yet let mercy triumph, cease thine ire,

And plucke me as a brand out of the fire.

I know my guilt is great, my fall is grosse,

My sinnes yell loude; yet louder speakes

Me and my guilt: I bring thee and thy crosse,

Wherein my place thou pledge and surety stood;

One drop of that balme will my conscience cure,

Applied by the hand of grace, and heale me sure.

Oh, it surmounts all juloups, all confections,

All cordials, drugs, bezar-vrmione,

All smaragde, diamonds, rubies, earthe’s iniections,

All pearle, all gold, all mines that ere were torne;

They helpe the heart and body in a swound,

But this reuiues the soull, cures conscience wound.

As sacred oyle from Aaron’s head distilling

Downe to his skirts did speedily descend,

So, Lord, with oyle of grace my soule be filling;

Drop downe thy myrrh, this hard heart cause to bend:

Me in thy garden set to gather spices,

Lop off my lusts, and weede out all my vices.

Lord, speake the word, thy seruant shall be whole;

Checke my soule’s tempests, calmes will then ensue;

Poure out thy spirit, I’le poure forth my soule;

Reflect one glimpse of grace, ’twill me renue;

Turne thou my tongue, and it shall sing thy praises,

Touch thou my heart: my heart to heau’n thou raises.

Giue thou me grace, and I shall giue thee glory;

Lend me thy hand, I shall redeem my fall;

Strike thou my heart, I shall be sinne-sicke sorry;

Ope thou my eares, and I shall heare thy call;

Vnloose my lips, and they shall swiftly moue,

To vent my heart’s diuine thoughts of thy loue.