| My Soule, sad Soule, now sommon al thy Powres |
|
|
| Well, now, these women, that were fled him fro |
|
|
| A Thanksgiving for Our Vocation |
|
|
| The Sinner Recounting His Manifold Transgressions, and Finding Himselfe Thereby in Danger of Perdition, Desireth Grace |
|
|
| O Thou great Kindler of Divine desire |
|
|
| Now Hee's inerr'd that all the World intombes |
|
|
| Of Gods Unutterable Being, with Desire of the Soule to Be Swallowed Up with the Love of His Majestie - |
|
|
| Now rouze thee Muse, prevent Apollo's rising |
|
|
| T'insult upon the wretched, is a Crime |
|
|
| Repetition of Gods Many Benefits, and Preservations, with Desire of the Continuance Thereof - |
|
|