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¶ On Mercy.
MErcy is comfort to the Poor;
'Tis that the Rich desire:
Lord, we thy Mercies do implore;
'Tis that the Saints require.
Mercy it was that gave us life,
To move, to think, or say;
Mercy is Physick for our grief,
And teacheth us to pray.
O how can we for mercy call,
That have so wicked been!
Our Parents gave us such a fall,
'Tis hard to rise agen:
Yet 'tis for Mercy still we crave,
'Tis that which must us raise;
Mercy first made, and now will save,
And teach us how to praise.
Our sins increase more than our days,
Yet Mercy lets us live;
'Tis God that we for all must praise,
That doth these mercies give:
And shall we still run on the score,
Not paying any part
Of what we ought to him before?
He asketh but a heart.
My Soul, pay what thou canst of all thy store;
He that pays nothing, ever owes the more.