Lord, how I am all ague, when I seek br What I have treasur'd in my memory! br Since, if my soul make even with the week, br Each seventh note by right is due to thee. br I find there quarries of pil'd vanities, br But shreds of holiness, that dare not venture br To show their face, since cross to thy decrees: br There the circumference earth is, heav'n the centre. br In so much dregs the quintessence is small: br The spirit and good extract of my heart br Comes to about the many hundredth part. br Yet Lord restore thine image, hear my call: br And though my hard heart scarce to thee can groan, br Remember that thou once didst write in stone.