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The seuenth Chapter, Of the trust the soule hath in the merits of hir Re∣deemer, against the dread of hell and desperation.
SIth then that death is so pleasant to me, that it pleaseth me more than it feareth me; then ought I to feare nothing, but onlie the right iudgement of GOD. My sinnes with his iust ballance shall be wei∣ed, and all that I haue done, openlie shall be shewed: my thoughts and words shall be better knowne, than they were written in a roll. Wherefore I may not thinke, that charitie would offend iustice and truth. For certaine it is, whosoeuer liueth vnfaithfullie, shall be punished in euerlasting paine. For God is iust, and his iudgement righteous, and all that he doth is per∣fect in all things. What am I then, considering mine owne righteousnesse? A wretch and poore creature.
I knowe that all the works of iust men, are so full of imperfection, that afore God, they are more filthie than mire, or other vilenesse. What will it be then, concerning the sins which I haue committed, where∣of I feele the burden importable? I can nothing else saie, but that I haue woon by them damnation. Is this the end? Shall despaire then be the comfort of my great ignorance? Alas my God, no? For the inuisi∣ble faith causeth me to beleeue, that all things, which are impossible to man, are possible vnto thee; so that thou doo conuert my worke, which is nothing, into some good worke of thine in me, which is speciallie faith. Then my Lord, who shall condemne me? Or what Iudge will damne me? Sith that thou, which art my Iudge, art also my father, my spouse, and my refuge. Alas, what father? Such as doth neuer con∣demne his child: but alwaies doth excuse and defend