Page:Sinner's sobs, or, The way to Sion.pdf/19

 Thy foolish pride buried thy sting

In the profound and wide

Wound of our Saviour's side.

now thou art become a tame and hann-

A thing we dare not fear [less thing,

Since we hear

at our triumphant God to punish thee

the affront thou didst him on the tree,

th snatch'd the keys of hell out of thy hand

And made thee stand

oorsts at the gate of life thy mortal enemy.

Thou who art thy gate, command that he

May, when we die,

And thither flee,

us into the courts of heaven through thee.

Hallelujah.

Judge of all, how we vile wretches

Our guilty bones do ake, (quake,

Our marrow freezes when we think

Of the consuming fire

Of thine ire.

And horrid phials thou shalt make

The wicked drink,

Thou the wine press of thy wrath shalt tread,

With feet of lead,