CXLII. The Humility and Submission of a Penitent.

O Injur'd Majesty of Heav'n,
Look from thy holy Throne,
While prostrate Rebels own with Grief
What Treasons they have done.

Thy Grace, where Sin abounded most,
Reigns with superior Sway;
And Pardons bought with Jesus' Blood
To Rebels doth display.

While Love its grateful Anthems tunes,
Tears mingle with the Song;
My Heart with tender Anguish bleeds,
That I such Grace should wrong.

How shall I lift these guilty Eyes
To mine offended Lord?
Or how, beneath his heaviest Strokes,
Pronounce one murm'ring Word?

Remorse and Shame my Lips have seal'd;
But O! my Father, speak;
And all the Harmony of Heav'n
Shall thro' the Silence break.