Читать книгу Selected Works - George Herbert - Страница 45

I KNOW it is my sinne, which locks thine eares,

And bindes thy hands!

Out-crying my requests, drowning my tears;

Or else the chilnesse of my faint demands.

But as cold hands are angrie with the fire,

And mend it still;

So I do lay the want of my desire,

Not on my sinnes, or coldnesse, bat thy will.

Yet heare, O God, onely for his blood’s sake,

Which pleads for me:

For though sinnes plead too, yet like stones they make

His bloud’s sweet current much more loud to be.