Classic Poem

King of all Kinges which from thy sacred Throne ,
Doest marke and view from forth the Heavens hie,
Thy Graces unto Adams Ofspring showne,
Of thy great Love (although unworthilie)
 Thou that do'st fill with true Delight the minde,
 With true Delight , wherein true Joy we finde.

Behold how I, ore'laid with grievous sinne,
With Soule defil'd, with Heart infected sore,
Doe flie to thee, thy Mercie for to winne,
And with Repentance doe my faultes deplore:
  Lord if thy Lawes and thee I have offended,
 Let mine old Follies , with new Teares be cleansed.

My Sorrowes , to my Sinnes are sparkes but small,
So loathsome they appeare unto my sight;
On thee, I at thy Gate of Pittie call,
Thou art the Flame that canst them purge most bright.
 The Bellowes is Amendements pure desire,
 Which doth inflame through thy hotte loving Fire .

Let thy great Bountie me forget, forgive,
And bad Conceites that idle Fancies wrought,
Let them no more within me (working) live,
But to Confusion and Contempt be brought:
 Oh let not Sinne my Soule still Satanise ,
 But with thy Spirit the same imparadise .