Twenty-second Sunday after Trinity

O God! my sins are manifold, — against my life they cry,
And all my guilty deeds foregone up to Thy temple fly:
Wilt Thou release my trembling soul, that to despair is driven?
"Forgive!" a blessed voice replied, "and thou shalt be forgiven."

My foemen, Lord, are fierce and fell, they spurn me in their pride,
They render evil for my good, my patience they deride;
Arise, O King, and be the proud to righteous ruin driven!
"Forgive!" an awful answer came, "as thou wouldst be forgiven!"

Seven times, O Lord, I pardoned them; seven times they sinned again:
They practise still to work me woe, they triumph in my pain;
But let them dread my vengeance now, to just resentment driven!
"Forgive!" the voice of thunder spake, "or never be forgiven!"