All whom the flood did, and fire shall o’erthrow,
All whom war, death, age, agues, tyrannies,
Despair, law, chance hath slain; and you whose eyes
Shall behold God and never taste death’s woe.
But let them sleep, Lord, and men mourn a space;
For if above all these my sins abound,
’Tis late to ask abundance of Thy grace,
When we are there; here, on this lowly ground
Teach me how to repent; for that’s as good
As if Thou hadst sealed my pardon with Thy blood.