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LVII

PRAISE

King of glory, King of peace,

I will love Thee;

And that love may never cease,

I will move Thee.

Thou hast granted my request,

Thou hast heard me;

Thou didst note my working breast,

Thou hast spared me.

Wherefore with my utmost art

I will sing Thee,

And the cream of all my heart

I will bring Thee.

Though my sins against me cried,

Thou didst clear me;

And alone, when they replied,

Thou didst hear me.

Seven whole days, not one in seven,

I will praise Thee;

In my heart, though not in Heaven,

I can raise Thee.

43

Thou grew'st soft and moist with tears,

Thou relentedst,

And when Justice call'd for fears,

Thou dissentedst.

Small it is, in this poor sort

To enrol Thee;

E'en eternity is too short

To extol Thee.

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