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'Tis true indeed, my Lord moſt meek,
My ſore and ſickneſs I do feel;
Yet thou the ſame didſt truly ſeek,
Who lay long at Bethſida's pool,
Of many that the never fought,
Like to the poor Samaritan,
Whom thou unto thy fold haſt brought,
Even as thou didſt the idow of N in,
Moſt gracious God, did thou not bid,
All that are weary come to thee,
Behold I come! even o'er-land
With ſin have mercy upon me.
The iſſues of thy ſoul are great
Thou art both lep'rous and unclean,
To be with me thou art not fit,
Go from me then, let me alone.
Let me thy garments once but touch,
My bloody garments ſhall be whole,
It will not coſt thee very much
To ſave a poor diſtreſſed ſoul,
Speak thou the word I ſhall be whole,
One look of thee ſhall do me good,
Save now good Lord my ſilly ſoul,
Bought with thine own moſt precious blood,
Let me alone none of my blood,
Was ever ſhed of ſuch as thee.
It was thy mercy, patience good,
Which from damnation ſet me free.
It is confeſt thou hadſt been juſt,
Although thou hadſt condemned me,
But ah! thy mercie ſtill do aſt,

To ſave the ſ u that truſts in thee.