The Sinner

Lord, how I am all ague, when I seek
    What I have treasured in my memory!
    Since, if my soul make even with the week,
Each seventh note by right is due to thee.
I find there quarries of piled vanities,
    But shreds of holiness, that dare not venture
    To show their face, since cross to thy decrees:
There the circumference earth is, heav'n the centre.
In so much dregs the quintessence is small:
    The spirit and good extract of my heart
    Comes to about the many hundredth part.
Yet Lord restore thine image, hear my call:
    And though my hard heart scarce to thee can groan,
    Remember that thou once didst write in stone.

This work was published before January 1, 1925, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.