Pia Desideria or, Divine Addresses, In Three Books. Illustrated with XLVII. Copper-Plates. Written in Latin by Herm. Hugo. Englished by Edm. Arwaker ... The Fourth Edition, Corrected |
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| VI. | VI. |
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 | Pia Desideria |  |
31
VI.
I have sinned, what shall I do unto thee, O thou Preserver of Men? Why hast thou set me as a Mark against thee?
Job vii. 20.
'Tis just, nor will I longer hide my shame,
But own my self egregiously to blame:
My Sins to such a mighty sum amount,
That hope of Pardon wou'd increase th'account;
And the black Cat'logue of their unwip'd score,
Calls for more Plagues than Vengeance has in store.
But own my self egregiously to blame:
My Sins to such a mighty sum amount,
That hope of Pardon wou'd increase th'account;
And the black Cat'logue of their unwip'd score,
Calls for more Plagues than Vengeance has in store.
I own it, Lord, nor just Dishonour fear;
Since publick Punishment I ought to bear.
Here, at thy Feet, I humbly prostrate bow,
And beg my Sentence from thy Mouth to know.
Shall my own Hand thy dread Revenge prevent,
And make my self my own sad Monument?
Shall I with Gifts thy loaden Altar crown,
Or sacrifice the Beast, my self, thereon?
(Tho' sure my Blood wou'd that blest place prophane,
And give what it shou'd cleanse a fouler stain.)
All this, and more, if possible to do,
Wou'd fall far short to pay the Debt I owe.
But thou art not severe, nor hard to please,
Whom Blood and Slaughter only can appease:
Thy Sword thy conquer'd Foe has often spar'd,
And thence the best, the noblest Trophies rear'd.
No tyrant Passion rages in thy Breast,
But the meek Dove builds there her peaceful Nest;
Kind Guardian of the World! our Help, our Aid,
To whom the Vows of all Mankind are made:
Who when thou woud'st thy height of Anger show,
A sudden Calm unbends thy threatning brow:
How kindly dost thou raise the prostrate Foe,
With the same hand that shou'd have struck the blow?
Since publick Punishment I ought to bear.
Here, at thy Feet, I humbly prostrate bow,
And beg my Sentence from thy Mouth to know.
Shall my own Hand thy dread Revenge prevent,
And make my self my own sad Monument?
Shall I with Gifts thy loaden Altar crown,
Or sacrifice the Beast, my self, thereon?
(Tho' sure my Blood wou'd that blest place prophane,
And give what it shou'd cleanse a fouler stain.)
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Wou'd fall far short to pay the Debt I owe.
But thou art not severe, nor hard to please,
Whom Blood and Slaughter only can appease:
Thy Sword thy conquer'd Foe has often spar'd,
And thence the best, the noblest Trophies rear'd.
No tyrant Passion rages in thy Breast,
But the meek Dove builds there her peaceful Nest;
Kind Guardian of the World! our Help, our Aid,
To whom the Vows of all Mankind are made:
Who when thou woud'st thy height of Anger show,
A sudden Calm unbends thy threatning brow:
How kindly dost thou raise the prostrate Foe,
With the same hand that shou'd have struck the blow?
Wou'dst thou permit—But oh! what Eloquence
Can with success appear in my defence?
Yet let me, Lord, plead for my self, and Thee,
Lest ev'n thy Cause, as mine, may injur'd be.
Lord, I confess I've sinned, but not alone;
Wilt thou impute a Common Guilt to One?
Thy bare-fac'd Rebels still unpunish'd go,
As if thou mindedst nothing here below.
Unplagu'd, like other Men, the brutish Swine,
Wallow i'th' foul excess of Lust and Wine:
Yet dost thou stop thy Arrows on the String,
Arrest thy brandish'd Thunder on the Wing;
Sheath thy red Sword, just lifted for the blow,
And in its room mild Olive-branches show.
But ev'ry slip each inadvertencie,
Is magnify'd to'insuff'rable in me.
I am the Mark of ev'ry wounding stroke,
As if I only did thy wrath provoke.
This I confess, All I, alas! can do:
O hear my Pray'r, with my Confession too!
Accept the good Effects of an ill Cause,
And pardon Sin, that gains thee most applause.
“Forgive me, Conqu'ror! since thou must confess
“Had I not Err'd, thy Glory had been less.
Can with success appear in my defence?
Yet let me, Lord, plead for my self, and Thee,
Lest ev'n thy Cause, as mine, may injur'd be.
Lord, I confess I've sinned, but not alone;
Wilt thou impute a Common Guilt to One?
Thy bare-fac'd Rebels still unpunish'd go,
As if thou mindedst nothing here below.
Unplagu'd, like other Men, the brutish Swine,
Wallow i'th' foul excess of Lust and Wine:
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Arrest thy brandish'd Thunder on the Wing;
Sheath thy red Sword, just lifted for the blow,
And in its room mild Olive-branches show.
But ev'ry slip each inadvertencie,
Is magnify'd to'insuff'rable in me.
I am the Mark of ev'ry wounding stroke,
As if I only did thy wrath provoke.
This I confess, All I, alas! can do:
O hear my Pray'r, with my Confession too!
Accept the good Effects of an ill Cause,
And pardon Sin, that gains thee most applause.
“Forgive me, Conqu'ror! since thou must confess
“Had I not Err'd, thy Glory had been less.
Then God sets Man as a mark against him, when Man by sinning has forsaken God: But our just Creator set him as a mark against him; because he thought him his Enemy by his naughtiness.
Greg. in 7 cap. Job, lib. 8. cap. 23.
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