 | Reliquiae Wottonianae |  |
470
A Hymn to my God in a night of my late Sicknesse.
Oh
thou great Power, in whom I move,
For whom I live, to whom I die,
Behold me through thy beams of love,
Whilest on this Couch of tears I lye;
And Cleanse my sordid soul within,
By thy Christs Blood, the bath of sin
For whom I live, to whom I die,
Behold me through thy beams of love,
Whilest on this Couch of tears I lye;
And Cleanse my sordid soul within,
By thy Christs Blood, the bath of sin
No hallowed oyls, no grains I need,
No rags of Saints, no purging fire,
One rosie drop from Davids Seed,
Was worlds of seas to quench thine Ire.
O pretious Ransome! which once paid,
That Consummatum est was said:
No rags of Saints, no purging fire,
One rosie drop from Davids Seed,
Was worlds of seas to quench thine Ire.
471
That Consummatum est was said:
And said by him, that said no more,
But seal'd it with his sacred breath.
Thou then, that hast dispung'd my score,
And dying, wast the death of death;
Be to me now, on thee I call,
My Life, my Strength, my Joy, my All.
But seal'd it with his sacred breath.
Thou then, that hast dispung'd my score,
And dying, wast the death of death;
Be to me now, on thee I call,
My Life, my Strength, my Joy, my All.
Hen. Wotton.
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