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| O strong Ramm, which hast batter'd heaven for me, * |
| Mild Lamb, which with thy blood hast mark'd the path; |
| Bright torch which shin'st, that I the way may see, |
| Oh, with thy own blood quench thy own just wrath, |
| And if thy holy Spirit my Muse did raise, |
| Deign at my hands this crown of prayer and praise. |
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| Holy Sonnets. |
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| I. |
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| Thou hast made me, and shall thy work decay? |
| Repair me now, for now mine end doth haste, |
| I run to death, and death meets me as fast, |
| And all my pleasures are like yesterday, |
| I dare not move my dimme eyes any way; |
| Despair behind, and death before doth cast |
| Such terrour, and my feeble flesh doth waste |
| By sin in it, which it t'wards hell doth weigh; |
| Only thou art above, and when towards thee |
| By thy leave I can look, I rise again; |
| But our old subtle foe so tempteth me, |
| That not one hour my self I can sustain; |
| Thy Grace may wing me to prevent his art, |
| And thou like adamant draw mine iron heart. |
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| II. |
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| As due by many titles I resigne |
| My self to thee, O God. First I was made |
| By thee, and for thee; and when I was decay'd, |
| Thy bloud bought that the which before was thine; |
| I am thy Son, made with thy self to shine, |
| Thy servant, whose pains thou hast still repaid, |
| Thy Sheep, thine Image, and till I betray'd
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[CW: My] |