Classic Poem

Rue on me, Lord, for thy goodness and grace,
That of thy nature art so bountiful,
For that goodness that in the world doth brace
Repugnant natures in quiet wonderful.
And for thy mercies' number without end,
In heaven and earth perceived so plentiful
That over all they do themselves extend,
For those mercies much more than man can sin,
Do way my sins that so thy grace offend.
Again wash me, but wash me well within,
And from my sin that thus mak'th me afraid
Make thou me clean as ay thy wont hath been.
For unto thee no number can be laid
For to prescribe remissions of offence
In hearts returned, as thou thyself hath said.
And I beknow my fault, my negligence,
And in my sight my sin is fixed fast,
Thereof to have more perfect penitence.
To thee alone, to thee have I trespassed
For none can measure my fault but thou alone.
For in thy sight I have not bee aghast
For to offend, judging thy sight as none
So that my fault were hid from sight of man,
Thy majesty so from my mind was gone.
This know I and repent. Pardon thou then,
Whereby thou shalt keep still thy word stable,
Thy justice pure and clean; because that when
I pardoned am, then forthwith justly able,
Just I am judged by justice of thy grace.
For I myself, lo, thing most unstable,
Formed in offence, conceived in like case,
Am naught but sin from my nativity.
Be not this said for my excuse, alas,
But of thy help to show necessity.
For, lo, thou loves the truth of inward heart
Which yet doth live in my fidelity
Though I have fallen, by frailty overthwart;
For wilful malice led me not the way
So much as hath the flesh drawn me apart.
Wherefore, O Lord, as thou hast done alway,
Teach me the hidden wisdom of thy lore
Since that my faith doth not yet decay.
And as teh Jews to heal the leper sore
With hyssop cleanse, cleanse me and I am clean.
Thou shalt me wash and more than snow therefore
I shall be white, how foul my fault hath been.
Thou of my health shalt gladsome tidings bring
When from above remission shall be seen
Descend on earth. Then shall for joy upspring
The bones that were afore consumed to dust.
Look not, O Lord, upon mine offending
But do away my deeds that are unjust.
Make a clean heart in the mids of my breast
With sprite upright voided from filthy lust.
From thine eyes' cure cast me not in unrest
Nor take from me thy sprite of holiness.
Render to me joy of thy help and rest;
My will confirm with sprite of steadfastness.
And by this shall these goodly things ensue:
Sinners I shall into thy ways address,
They shall return to thee and thy grace sue;
My tongue shall praise thy justification;
My mouth shall spread thy glorious praises true.
But of thyself, O God, this operation
It must proceed by purging me from blood,
Among the just that I may have relation.
And of thy lauds for to let out the flood
Thou must, O Lord, my lips first unloose.
For if thou hadst esteemed pleasant good
The outward deeds that outward men disclose
I would have offered unto thee sacrifice.
But thou delights not in no such gloze
Of outward deed as men dream and devise.
The sacrifice that the Lord liketh most
Is sprite contrite; low heart in humble wise
Thou dost accept, O God, for pleasant host.
Make Zion, Lord, according to thy will,
Inward Zion, the Zion of the ghost.
Of heart's Jerusalem strength the walls still.
Then shalt thou take for good these outward deeds
As sacrifice thy pleasure to fulfil.
Of thee alone thus all our good proceeds.