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 But, good saint Peter, let me be, Had you such faith, did it abound? When you did walk upon the sea, Was you not like for to be drown'd, Had not our Saviour helped thee, Who came and took thee by the hand? So can my Lord do unto me, And bring me to the promised land. Is my faith weak? Yet he is still The same and ever shall remain; His mercies last and his good will, To bring me to his flock again: He will me help and me relieve, And will increase my faith also, If weakly I can but believe, For from this place I'll never go. But Peter said, how can that be: How durst thou look him in the face, Such horrid sinners like to thee, Can have no courage to get grace: Here none comes in but they that's stout, And suffered have for the good cause; Like unto thee are keeped out, For thou hast broke all Moses' laws. Peter, she said, I do appeal, From Moses, and from thee also; With him and you I'll not prevail, But to my Saviour I will go: Indeed of old you were right stout; When you did cut off Malchus' ear; But after that you went about: And a poor maid then did you fear.