The Penitent pardoned.
I
Hence from my soul, my sins, depart,
Your fatal friendship now I see;
Long have you dwelt too near my heart,
Hence, to eternal distance flee.
II
Ye gave my dying Lord his wound,
Yet I caress'd your viperous brood,
And in my heart-strings lapp'd you round,
You, the vile murderers of my God.
III
Black heavy thoughts, like mountains, roll
O'er my poor breast, with boding fears,
And crushing hard my tortured soul,
Wring thro' my eyes the briny tears.
IV
Forgive my treasons, Prince of grace,
The bloody Jews were traitors too,
Yet thou hast pray'd for that curst race,
‘Father, they know not what they do.’
V
Great Advocate, look down and see
A wretch, whose smarting sorrows bleed;
O plead the same excuse for me!
For, Lord, I knew not what I did.
VI
Peace, my complaints; let every groan
Be still, and silence wait his love;
Compassions dwell amidst his throne,
And thro' his inmost bowels move.
VII
Lo, from the everlasting skies,
Gently, as morning-dews distil,
The dove immortal downward flies,
With peaceful olive in his bill.
VIII
How sweet the voice of pardon sounds!
Sweet the relief to deep distress!
I feel the balm that heals my wounds,
And all my pow'rs adore the grace.
