 | A Divine Centvrie of Spirituall Sonnets |  |
Sonnet. LXXVII.
[Pvrge thou my guiltie soule sweete gracious Lord]
Pvrge thou my guiltie soule sweete gracious LordDefil'd and vgly made with sinfull spots:
Heale my wounds desperate whose festure rots:
My vexed members loathsome and abhorrd:
Doe not in register my sinne recorde,
My wicked practises, and vaine complots,
But lift my soule from the defiled pots;
And let thy mercy with my suite accorde.
Make thou my soule cleere like white Salmons snow,
Or like a siluer winged Doue appeare,
Where diuers glorious golden fethers show:
Conuert thy foemens forces into feare,
Like Iaben make them, and like Cysara,
Like Seba, Zeb, Horeb and Salmana.
| A Divine Centvrie of Spirituall Sonnets | |