In the black dismal dungeon of despair, Pined with tormenting care, Wracked with my fears, Drowned in my tears, With dreadful expectation of my doom And certain horrid judgement soon to come: Lord, here I lie, Lost to all hope of Liberty, Hence never to remove, But by a miracle of love, Which I scarce hope for or expect, Being guilty of so long, so great neglect. Fool that I was, worthy a sharper rod, To slight thy courting, O my God. For thou didst woo, entreat and grieve, Didst beg me to be happy and to live; But I would not; I chose to dwell With death, far from thee, too near to hell: But is there no redemption, no relief? Thou savedst a Magdalen, a thief - O Jesu! Thy mercy, Lord, once more advance; O give me such a glance As Peter had! Thy sweet, kind, chiding look Will change my heart, as it did melt that Rock. Look on me, sweet Jesu, as thou didst on him! 'Tis more than to create, thus to redeem.
- by William Fuller, Dr., Lord-Bishop of Lincoln (1608 - 1675) [author's text not yet checked against a primary source]
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)
- by (Edward) Benjamin Britten (1913 - 1976), "In the black dismal dungeon of despair", note: this is a realization of a Purcell song. [text verified 1 time]
- by Henry Purcell (1658/9 - 1695), "In the black dismal dungeon of despair", Z. 190, published 1688. [text verified 1 time]
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]