Divine Poems Written By Thomas Washbourne |
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The Conclusion. To my dread Soveraigne And deer Master, Christ Jesus, King of Kings. |
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The Conclusion. To my dread Soveraigne And deer Master, Christ Jesus, King of Kings.
Thou King of Kings, and Lord of Lords,
I owe my self and all I have to Thee,
My Muse no tribute now affords,
But what first comes from thine own Treasurie,
A leafe of praise
Is all that I can raise.
I owe my self and all I have to Thee,
My Muse no tribute now affords,
But what first comes from thine own Treasurie,
A leafe of praise
Is all that I can raise.
And yet that leafe is taken from
Thy Tree of grace thou graftedst in my heart,
Accept it then, since it doth come
From that stock which to me thou didst imparr;
It is thine own,
To all the world be't known.
Thy Tree of grace thou graftedst in my heart,
Accept it then, since it doth come
From that stock which to me thou didst imparr;
It is thine own,
To all the world be't known.
I do confesse the ground in which
'Tis set, is poor, and long hath barren been,
For how alas, could it be rich,
When nought but thorns and thistles grew therein?
O let thy grace
Above my sins take place,
'Tis set, is poor, and long hath barren been,
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When nought but thorns and thistles grew therein?
O let thy grace
Above my sins take place,
And in my heart the upper hand
Let it stil have, a happy victorie,
That I thy Champion may stand
Undaunted 'gainst all that opposeth thee:
So whiles I live,
I shall thee praises give.
Let it stil have, a happy victorie,
That I thy Champion may stand
Undaunted 'gainst all that opposeth thee:
So whiles I live,
I shall thee praises give.
Or if whiles in this Vale I stay,
To praise thee well wil be too hard a thing,
Then to thy holy hil convey
My soul, where I may Hallelujahs sing
In an higher
And better tuned Quire.
To praise thee well wil be too hard a thing,
Then to thy holy hil convey
My soul, where I may Hallelujahs sing
In an higher
And better tuned Quire.
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