Lord! I have sinned, and the black Number swells to such a dismal Sum,
that should my stony Heart, and Eyes,
and this whole sinful Trunk a Flood become,
and run to Tears, their Drops could not suffice to count my score,
much less to pay; but thou, my God, hast Blood in store,
and art the Patron of the Poor.
Yet since the Balsom of thy Blood, although it can, will do no good,
unless the Wounds be cleans'd with Tears, before thou,
in whose sweet, but pensive Face, Laughter could never steal a Place.
Teach but my Heart and Eyes to melt away,
and then one drop, one drop of Balsom will suffice.