Prison-Pietie or, Meditations Divine and Moral. Digested into Poetical Heads, On Mixt and Various Subjects. Whereunto is added A Panegyrick to The Right Reverend, and most Nobly descended, Henry, Lord Bishop of London. By Samuel Speed, Prisoner in Ludgate, London |
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On little Sins. |
 | Prison-Pietie |  |
On little Sins.
Sin at the first seems small; when I begin,I thus conclude, 'Tis but a little sin,
I may wade through it dry-shod: So on tilt
I run, as if secur'd from sin by guilt;
But when into my sin I slily creep,
It suddenly appears so soul, so deep,
So dangerous a gulph doth widely gape,
That without drowning I can hardly scape.
Thus in extremities I always bleed;
My sins are small, they no repentance need;
Or else so great and heynous is any stain,
That I despair, I can't a pardon gain.
A Reed out of thy Sanctuary, Lord,
Would truly measure every deed and word.
But O if thou my misery reveal,
Do not thy mercy from my Soul conceal,
Lest if I apprehend my wounds gape wide,
My desperate Soul run out, and thereby glide
Into a world of to ments, if my grief
Seem to be greater than is thy relief.
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Than mercie doth, it makes way for despair.
No sins are little: 'tis the Devil's cheat
So to surmise; for ev'ry sin is great.
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