My Heart Laments That Virtue Cannot Live

Foul Whisperings Are Abroad

Soft Pity Enters An Iron Gate.

Open Thy Gate Of Mercy, Gracious God, My Soul Flies Through These Wounds To Seek Out Thee.

Poor Wretches That Depend On Greatness' Favor, Dream As I Have Done; Wake, And Find Nothing.

Seek Happy Nights To Happy Days.w