A paraphrase upon the divine poems. By George Sandys

About this Item

Title
A paraphrase upon the divine poems. By George Sandys
Author
Sandys, George, 1578-1644.
Publication
London :: [Printed by John Legatt, sold] at the Bell in St. Pauls Church-yard [i.e. the shop of Andrew Hebb],
M.DC.XXXVIII. [1638]
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Link to this Item
http://name.umdl.umich.edu/A11474.0001.001
Cite this Item
"A paraphrase upon the divine poems. By George Sandys." In the digital collection Early English Books Online. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/A11474.0001.001. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed April 28, 2025.

Pages

PSALME LI.
As the 3.
LORD, to a sinner Mercy show: Which since in Thee so infinite; Let all thy streames of Mercy flow, And purifie me in thy sight. O wash thou my polluted Soule! O cleanse me from my bloudy Deed! That to my Selfe appeare so foule; And now in true Contrition bleed. My sinnes, unmask't, before Thee lye; Who have deserv'd thy wrath alone: Which I confesse, to testifie Thy Truth, and make thy Justice knowne. In sinne conceiv'd, brought forth in sin; Sin suckt I from my Mothers brest: Thou lov'st a heart sincere within, Where Wisdome is a constant guest. With Hysope purge, from blemish cleare; O wash, then falling Snow more white! Lord, let me thy remission heare: The Bones, which thou hast broke, unite. Blot out my crimes; O separate My trembling Guilt far from thy view! A cleane Heart in my brest create; A Mind, to Thee confirm'd, renew. [Part. 2] Nor cast me from thy Presence, Lord; Nor O thy holy Spirit withdraw! But thy life-quickening Grace afford; Inlarge my Will t'imbrace thy Law. Then Sinners I with heavenly Food Will feed, directed in thy Wayes: O my Redeemer, cleanse from blood The Soule, that will thy Mercie praise. Give Thou my Verse an argument; And they thy Goodnesse shall resound. No Sacrifice will Thee content; Nor Altars with Oblations crown'd. Else, I would Hecatombs impart: True sorrow is Thy Sacrifice.

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A broken and a contrite Heart, My God, Thou never wilt despise. Thy Sion with accustom'd Grace (Lest my foule crimes her shame procure) In thy protecting Armes imbrace; And faire Jerusalem immure. Then we, with due Solemnitie, To Thee our gratefull Vowes will pay; And Buls, which never Yoke did try, Vpon thy flaming Altar lay.
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