(Oh Lord) I confesse with shame,
I ought not to mixe thy name,
Either in my prose, or verse,
If not sprinkled with my teares,
Which cannot doe any good,
Except colour’d by the blood,
Of that Lambe unspotted slaine,
Us to free from endles paine:
His bloud was like scarlet bright,
Yet scarlet sinnes, it makes white:
Hee did conquer death, by death,
Which to us did life bequeathe:
Hee the Lilly was ‘mongst thornes,
Scourged, and expos’d to scornes,
Judg’d to dye, yet King of Glory
Guiltles slaine: This is his storye,
Which when faithfull hearts shall reade,
Each shall droppes of pitty bleede,
And with sorow wounded cry,
My Sinne caus’d my Lord to dye./
(Ralph Knevet)
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Based on Topics: Death & Dying Poems, Name Poems, Cry Poems, Success PoemsBased on Keywords: sorow, endles, judg, lambe, thornes, bleede, guiltles, mixe, storye, scornes, droppes