“Pardon mine iniquity; for it is great.” Ps. 25. 11
J. Hart C.M.
From poisonous errors, pleasing cheats,
And gilded baits of sin,
Which, swallowed as delicious meats,
Infect and rot within;
Lord, pardon a backslider base,
Returning from the dead;
Ashamed to show his shameful face,
Or lift his guilty head.
Ah! what a fool have I been made!
Or rather made myself;
That mariner’s mad part I played,
That sees, yet strikes the shelf.
How weak must be this wicked heart,
Which, boasting much to know,
Made light of all thy bitter smart
And wantoned with thy woe!
Monstrous ingratitude I own,
Well worthy wrath divine;
Can blood such horrid crimes atone?
Yes, blood so rich as thine.
Then, since thy mercy makes me melt,
My baseness I deplore;
Regard the grief and shame I’ve felt,
And daily make them more.