⁠But, loving Lord, may I presume,
Poor worm, that I may speak again,
The dogs for hunger were undone,
And of the crumbs they were right fain.
Grant me one crumb then that doth fall
From thy best childrens' 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 suppos'd,
For thou art deadly sick in sin.
⁠'Tis true indeed, my Lord most meek,
My fore and sickness I do feel :
Yet thou the lame didst truly seek,
Who lay long at Bethseda's pool,
Of many that thee never fought,
Like to the poor Samaritan;
Whom thou unto thy fold hast 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 overload
With sin, have 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 shall be whole,
It will not cost thee very much,
To save a poor distressed soul,