Page:Lyra Davidica.djvu/74

The Complaint. The Good I would I oft omit;

The Ill would not I commit.

What in the Spirit I begin

The Flesh constrains to end in Sin.

After my Washing I am Stain'd;

After my Conquests I am Maim'd;

After Repentance Fall again;

When Life's renew'd by Sin I'm slain.

Soon my Devotion lags and tires,

But rarely sensual Joy expires.

My Vows I break; to Sin I'm bent,

Tho' checkt with fear of Punishment.

Ill Thoughts within my Bosom dwell;

The Tongue's oft set on Fire of Hell:

Seated between my Brain and Heart

Both unto it ill Words impart.

In this sad plight where shall I go?

There's none but God can ease my Woe.

His Spirit alone can guide my way;

Without Him I shall ever stray.

Lord, Pardon will do little good;

Or ev'n thy Son's Balsamick Blood;

Unless thy Spirit set me free

From Sins dark Power and Slavery.

Therefore make good thy Promise Lord;

Thy Powerful Aid to me afford:

That no Presumptuous Sin may Reign,

Or ought my Innocency stain.

My Appetites my Eye and Ear,

My Passions anger, Hope and Fear,