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 for such as thee,
It was my mercy, patience good,
Which from damnation made thee free.
⁠It is confest thou hadst been just,
Altho' thou had condemned ne,
But O! thy mercies still do last,
To save the soul that trusts in thee;
Let me not then condemned be,
Most humbly, Lord, I thee request,
Of sinners all none like to me,
So much the more thy praise shall last.
⁠Thy praising me is not persite,
My saints shall praise me evermore,
In sinners I have no delight,
Such sacrifice I do abhor.
⁠Then she unto the Lord did say,
At foot-stool of thy grace I'll ly,
Sweet Lord my God, say me not nay,
For if I perish here I'll die.
⁠Poor silly wretch, then speak no more,
Thy faith, poor soul, hath saved thee;
Enter thou in unto my glore,
And rest thro' all eternity.
⁠How soon our Saviour these words said,
A long white robe to her was given;
And then the angels did her lead,
Forthwith within the gates of heaven: