Classic Poem

Thy mercies Lord (hence in displeasure fled)
On me and my torn Kingdoms I implore:
Whose loss we both too justly merited,
But never can deserve thou shouldst restore.

Thou seest the cruelty that Christians use,
In the false colours of Religion dy'd;
As if the names of Christians they should lose,
Unless they one another crucify'd.

Since we thy Truth and Charity despis'd,
Errour, and Hatred now their room possess.
My God, O pardon those thou hast chastiz'd;
Our wounds with penitentiall Balm redress.

Make not our sufferings less in thy esteem;
And to our Conscience let our sins appear,
As they in th'mirrour of thy judgements seem;
Which to small crimes are never so severe.

Remove their numerous weight, and be appeas'd,
Yet then our sinns may they afflict us less:
More willing to repent than to be eas'd,
With peace our Souls, and next our Kingdoms bless.

By thy great mercy our offences drowne
In the calme Sea of our Redeemers blood:
And through the purple current of our own,
Steer us at last to Plenty, Peace, and Good.

To me a share of all the ills that press
My Subjects, doth my wide relation bring:
Give me a pious sense of their distress,
Such as befits their Father and their King.

Let the reproachfull breath their Malice spreads,
Kindle in me compassionate desires:
My Charity heap Coles upon their heads,
Whose zealous cruelty my Kingdom fires.

O rescue those whom yet thou hast preserv'd,
Reduceing all to thy Truths saving waies;
Who by mistake or ignorance have swerv'd,
But punish them who these combustions raise.

Not with the guilty thou the innocent,
Nor th'erring, wilt with the malitious slay:
To Foes, through avarice on Slaughter bent,
Give not that poor seduced Realm away.

In the devouring Fornace of thine ire,
A race, that may thy mercy praise, maintain:
Deal not with me as mens untruths require,
But as my guiltless hands are free from stain.

If I have sought or lov'd my Kingdomes woes,
Nor did my studies faithfully employ,
These bloody wild distractions to compose,
Then let thy hand my fathers house destroy.

That I have Foes enough thou Lord dost see,
I durst not call thy curse on me and mine,
Were I not guiltless to my self and thee;
Thy mercies are my trust: Thy wrath decline.