Not knowing where a resting-place to find,
Whither for sanctuary should I go
But, Reverend Sir, to you?
You that have triumph'd o'er th' impetuous flood,
That, Noah-like, in bad times durst be good,
190And the stiff torrent manfully withstood,
Can save me too;
One that have long in fear of drowning bin,
Surrounded by the rolling waves of sin;