Poems of Henry Arthington
O heauenly Lord O father deare, how downe thine eares to me
A wofull wretch that in my grief do onely seeke to thee.
Remember (Lord) thy promyse made to all that stande in neede,
that when they cal vpon thy name, thou wilt them helpe with speede.
The waight and burden of my sinnes, do presse me downefull fore.
therefore (O Lord) I come to thee, that mercy hast in store,