Confession and Pardon. Isaac Watts Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T82397 K067329.000 Watts, Isaac, 1674-1748. Horæ lyricæ: Poems, chiefly of the lyric kind. In two books. ... By I. Watts. London Printed by S. and D. Bridge, for John Lawrence at the Sign of the Angel in the Poultrey. MDCCVI. 1706 pp. 43-47. [20],267,[1]p.; 8⁰.

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Confession and Pardon . I. ALAS my aking Heart ! Here the keen Torment lies ; It racks my waking Hours with Smart , And frights my Slumbring Eyes . II . Guilt will be hid no more , My Griefs take vent apace , The Crimes that blot my Conscience o're Flush Crimson in my Face . III . My Sorrows like a Flood Impatient of Restraint Into thy Bosom , O my God , Pour out a long Complaint . IV . This impious Heart of mine Could once defie the Lord , Could rush with Violence on to Sin In presence of thy Sword . V. As often have I stood A Rebel to the Skies , The Calls , the Tenders of a God , And Mercies Loudest cries . VI . He offers all his Grace , And all his Heaven to me ; Offers ! But 'tis to senseless Brass That can nor feel nor see . VII . Jesus the Saviour stands To court me from above , And looks and spreads his wounded Hands , And shows the Prints of Love . VIII . But I , a stupid Fool , How long have I withstood The Blessings purchas'd with his Soul , And paid for all in Blood ? IX . The Heav'nly Dove came down And tender'd me his Wings , To mount me upward to a Crown And bright Immortal things . X. Lord , I'm asham'd to say That I refus'd thy Dove , And sent thy Spirit griev'd away To his own Realms of Love . XI . Nor all thine Heav'nly Charms , Nor thy revenging Hand Could force me to lay down my Arms , And bow to thy Command . XII . Lord , 'tis against thy Face My Sins like Arrows rise , And yet , and yet ( O matchless Grace ) Thy Thunder silent lies . XIII . O shall I never feel The Meltings of thy Love ? Am I of such Hell-harden'd Steel That Mercy cannot move ? XIV . Now for one powerful Glance Dear Saviour , from thy Face ! This Rebel-heart no more withstands , But sinks beneath thy Grace . XV. O'recome by dying Love I fall , And at thy Cross I lie ; I throw my Flesh , my Soul , my All , And Weep , and Love , and Die . XVI . " Rise , says the Prince of Mercy , rise ; With Joy and Pity in his Eyes : " Rise and behold my wounded Veins , " Here flows the Blood to wash thy Stains . XVII . " See , my Great Father's reconcil'd : He say'd , and Lo the Father smil'd ; The Joyful Cherubs clapt their Wings , And sounded Grace on all their Strings .