Praise (II)

King of glorie, King of peace,
I will love thee:
And that love may never cease,
I will move thee.
Thou hast granted my request,
Thou hast heard me:
Thou didst note my working breast,
Thou hast spar'd me.
Wherefore with my utmost art
I will sing thee,
And the cream of all my heart
I will bring thee.
Though my sinnes against me cried,
Thou didst cleare me;
And alone when they replied,
Thou didst heare me.
Sev'n whole dayes, not one in seven,
I will praise thee.
In my heart, though not in heaven,
I can raise thee.
Thou grew'st soft and moist with tears,
Thou dissentedst.
Small it is, in this poore sort
To enroll thee:
Ev'n eternitie is too short
To extoll thee.