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Behold, O God! BEHOLD, O God! in rivers of my tears I come to thee! bow down thy blessed ears To hear me, wretch, and let thine eyes (which sleep Did never close) behold a sinner weep: Let not, O God, my God, my faults through great, And numberless, between thy mercy's seat And my poor soul be thrown! since we are taught, Thou, Lord, remember'st thine, if thou be sought. I come not, Lord, with any other merit Than what I by my Saviour Christ inherit: Be then his wounds my balm; his stripes my bliss; My crown his thorns; my death be lost in his. And thou, my blest Redeemer, Saviour, God, Quit my accounts, withhold the vengeful rod! O beg for me! my hopes on thee are set; And Christ forgive, as well as pay the debt. The living fount, the life, the way, I know, And but to thee, O whither should I go? All other helps are vain: grant thine to me, For in thy cross my saving health must be. O hearken then what I with faith implore, Lest Sin and Death sink me for evermore. Lastly, O God! my ways direct and guide; In death defend me, that I never slide; And at the doom let me be raised then, To live with thee; sweet Jesus, say Amen! William Browne's other poems: Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1359 |
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Английская поэзия. Адрес для связи eng-poetry.ru@yandex.ru |