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.