And am I here, and my Redeemer gone ?
Can he be dead, and is not my life done ?
Was he tormented in excesse of measure,
And doe I live yet? and yet live in pleasure ?
Alas ! could sinners finde out ne'r a one
More fit than thee for them to spit upon ?
Did thy cheekes entertaine a traytor's lips ?
Was thy deare body scourg'd and tome with whips.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem