On Repentance

Repentance easie seems, when we regard
Either the punishment, or the reward:
We can confess, and moan our wretched state,
And humbly our offences aggravate.
To sigh, to weep, to sorrow for what's past,
Because our sins our souls and bodies waste,
Does but attrition prove, and shew some sense
Of our condition; 'tis not penitence,
Until we cast our vanities away,
And learn to make our appetites obey;
Till we can all habitual crimes forsake,
Hate him we love, and a new pleasure take
To raise our souls to such an holy choice,
That each thought may of Heav'n make us rejoice.
'Tis such a total change, a self-denial,
Causes the only penitential trial;
At which the Angels joy, and for our sake
Do an high holy-day in Heaven make.