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S. PETER'S Cock.

I

With what indiff'rence read I how
The Cock did by his signal Crow
Alarm Saint Peter's Heart!
No Echo in my Breast I felt,
Into the thought of my own Guilt
To make my Conscience start.

II

But ah! sweet Lord of Lenity,
Have not ungrateful faithless I
Deny'd Thee more than thrice?
And has the Cock not warned me
To think of both myself and Thee
By crowing more than twice?
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III

Should all my Life be brought to trial,
It would appear but a Denial
Of what I owe to Thee:
Yet no such terrible Temptation
As Peter's was, e'er made invasion
Upon my Loyalty.

IV

Alas! the Cock, who by his Crow
Doth terror upon Lions throw,
Hath never frighted me:
I bolder am than they, for I
Tho' but a Worm, have dared thy
Almighty Majesty.

V

Sweet Jesu, it must be the Art
Of Love, which seizeth this my Heart
With penitent pious Fear:
Soft Strokes will steal themselves into
The Flint of that hard Soul, which no
Fierce Violence can tear.

VI

O turn to me thy gracious Eye,
And with its dear Artillery
Shoot, shoot my Bosom thro';
My Heart, tho' deaf unto the stroke
Of Sound, may learn to hear a Look,
And broken, Weeper grow.

VII

Thy blessed Look knows how to speak
Louder than any Voice, and shake
The sturdiest Heart asunder:
For in the radiant Treasury,
Great Lord, of thy Soul-conquering Eye,
Both Lightning dwells and Thunder.
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