In number than the sands upon the Shore?
Thou art a lump of wickedness become,
And may'st with horror think upon thy Doom,
Until thy Soul be washéd in the flood
Of Christ's most dear, soul-cleansing, precious-Blood.
That, that alone can do away thy sin,
Which thou wert born and hast long livéd in;
That, only that can pacify God's wrath,
If apprehended by a lively Faith,
Now whilst the day and means of Grace do last,