My God, how gracious art thou! I had slipt 
Almost to hell, 
And on the verge of that dark, dreadful pit 
Did hear them yell, 
But O thy love! thy rich, almighty love 
That sav'd my soul, 
And checkt their fury, when I saw them move, 
And heard them howl; 
O my sole comfort, take no more these ways, 
This hideous path, 
And I will mend my own without delays, 
Cease thou thy wrath! 
I have deserv'd a thick, Egyptian damp, 
Dark as my deeds, 
Should mist within me, and put out that lamp 
Thy spirit feeds; 
A darting conscience full of stabs and fears; 
No shade but Yew, 
Sullen, and sad eclipses, cloudy spheres, 
These are my due. 
But he that with his blood, (a price too dear,) 
My scores did pay, 
Bid me, by virtue from him, challenge here 
The brightest day; 
Sweet, downy thoughts; soft lily-shades; calm streams; 
Joys full and true; 
Fresh, spicy mornings; and eternal beams 
These are his due.