XIII. Anonymous

PRINCE of Life, unvaile thy face,

Let thy glories all appeare;

Give out freely of that grace

Which hath cost thy love so deare.

Blind I am, but in thy light

Whoso placed is by thee,

Thee and all things else shall see,

Though he darker were then night.

Deafe I am, but at thy voice

Graves doe open, dust doth live;

Speake, Lord, make a joyfull noise,

That may eare, and hearing give.

Puft I am so with the fumes

That ascend from dunghill aires,

As I sent not the perfumes

Of thy merits and thy prayers.

Sicke I am, and cannot tast

That high fare of flesh and bloud,

Which by death thou formed hast,

To become a sinner’s food.

Dead I am in every part,

Semelesse, stinking, cold, and such

As my ill exceeds all art

But of thy most gracious touch.

Then, deare Lord, unvaile thy face,

Let thy glories all appeare;

Give out freely of that grace

Which hath cost thy love so deare.