University of Virginia Library

IX. HIS MORNING MUSE.

[NON TARDES CONVERTI AD DEUM.]

Let dread of pain for sin in aftertime,
Let shame to see thy self ensnared so,
Let grief conceived for foul accursed crime,
Let hate of sin, the worker of thy wo,
With dread, with shame, with grief, with hate, enforce
To dew thy cheeks with tears to deep remorse.
So hate of sin shall make God's love to grow;
So grief shall harbour hope within thine heart;
So dread shall caus the flood of joy to flow;
So shame shall send sweet solace to thy smart:
So love, so hope, so joy, so solace sweet
Shall make my soul in heavenly bliss to fleet.

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Wo, where no hate doth no such love allure!
Wo, where such grief makes no such hope proceed!
Wo, where such dread doth not such joy procure!
Wo, where such shame doth not such solace breed!
Wo, where no hate, no grief, no dread, no shame
No love, no hope, no joy, no solace frame!