A written Book lie open shall,
Containing each ones Charge; and all
By those grand Evidences stand or fall.
Then sits the Judge himself, and tries;
No shifting from All-seeing eyes,
Nor scaping seen, whoe're deserves it dies.
Oh then poor I! what shall I do?
Which Friend or Patron take me to,
When Saints themselves are scarce secure from wo?
Dread Lord, to thee thy self run I,
Who sav'st the sav'd without a why,
And so mayst me, thou source of Clemencie.
Think, who did once thy pity move,
And drew thee from thy Throne above,
Cast me not off at last, thy former Love.
Thou tir'dst thy self in seeking me,
And for my sake di'dst on a Tree;
Let not in vain such pangs and labour be.
True, thou hast dealt thy mercies home,
Yet acts of grace mayst deign to some
At least, before that day of Reckoning come?
I guilty am e're thou me try,
My looks and blushes me descry;
But Mercy, Lord, O Lord, do not deny.
Thou, who didst once a Magd'len spare,
And of a Thief condemn'd took'st care,
B'dst me, by these examples, not despair.
Not that my Prayers ought can claim,
But thou art good, be still the same,
That wretched I burn not in endless flame.
When from the Goats thou shalt divide
Thy Sheep, let me with thee abide,
Plac'd in Eternal Bliss, on thy right side:
And then (those great 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ssizes done,
The Curs'd to flames tormenting thrown)
Say, Come ye blessed, meaning me for one.
Lord, this I beg on bended knee,
With heart contrite as ashes be,
That thou take care both of my end and me?