22
Grant me one crumb that then doth fall
From thy blest children's table Lord,
That I may be refresh'd withal,
It will me help enough afford.
The gates of mercy now are clos'd,
And thou canst hardly enter in;
It is not so as thou supposed.
For thou art deadly sick in sin.
'Tis true indeed my lord most meek,
My sore and sickness I do feel;
Yet thou the lamb dost truly seek,
Who lay long at Bethseda's pool,
Of that thee never sougbt,
Like to the poor Samaritan;
Whom thou into thy fold has brought,
Even as thou didst the widow of Nain:
Most gracious God, didst thou not bid
All that were weary come to thee?
Behold I come! even o'erload
With sin, baye mercy upon me.
The issues of thy soul are great,
Thou art both leprous 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 issue will be whole,
It will not cost the very much,
To save a poor distressed soul.
Speak thou the word I shall be whole,
One look of thee shall do me good,
