Classic Poem

Where shall my troubled soul, at large
Discharge
The burden of her sins, oh where?
Echo Here.
    Whence comes this voice I hear?
    Who doth this grace afford?
    If it be thou, O Lord,
Say, if thou hear my prayers when I call.
Echo All.
And wilt thou pity grant when I do cry?
Echo I.

Then though I fall,
    Thy Grace will my defects supply,
    But who will keep my soul from ill,
    Quench bad desires, reform my Will?
Echo I will.

O may that will and voice be blest,
Which yields such comforts unto one distrest,
More blessed yet, would'st thou thy self unmask,
Or tell, at least, who undertakes this task.
Echo Ask.

Then quickly speak,
Since now with crying I am grown so weak,
I shall want force even to crave thy name,
O speak before I wholly weary am.
Echo I am.