Contention I forswear, repentance I maintain.
With sword and winding-sheet I fall at my lord’s feet;
Should he decapitate me, death to me’ll be sweet.
Thou’st talked of separation;—bitter, worse than gall;
Do what thou will with me, that hideous word recall.170
In thee, for me, a pleader ever will be found;
If I be mute, thou’lt still hear intercession’s sound.
My potent advocate is, in thyself, thy heart;
Relying upon that, I dared to sin, with art.
Have mercy slily,—see thy grace thyself not, Lord!