Another of the same, paraphrased for an Antheme
Out of the horrour of the lowest Deep,
Where cares & endlesse fears their station keep,
To thee (O Lord) I send my woful cry:
O heare the accents of my misery.
If Thy enquiry (Lord) should be severe,
To mark all sins which have been acted here,
Who may abide? or, when they fisted are,
Stand un-condemned at Thy Judgments bar?
But there is mercy (O my God) with Thee,
That Thou by it may'st lou'd, and feared be.
My Soule waites for the Lord, in Him I trust,
Whose word is faithful, & whose promise just.
On him my longing thoughts are fixt, as they,
Who wait the cōforts of the rising day:
Yea more then those that watch the morning light
Tir'd with the sorrowes of a rest-less night.
O Israel, trust in that Gratious Lord,
Who plentifull remission doth afford;
And will His people, who past pardon seeme,
By mercyes greater then their sins redeeme.
poem by Henry King
Added by Poetry Lover
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