Sunday Sonnet.

The text for Locke’s sonnet is Psalm 51:3 For I know my transgressions, And my sin is ever before me. Smart mean pain, gilt is not golden but guilt. Most of the rest is fairly self explanatory. As usual, if in doubt, read it out loud: Scots accent is optional.

Photo by Christian Pugsley on Unsplash

Haue mercie, Lord, haue mercie: for I know
How muche I nede thy mercie in this case.
The horror of my gilt doth dayly growe,
And growing weares my feble hope of grace.
I fele and suffer in my thralled brest
Secret remorse and gnawing of my hart.
I fele my sinne, my sinne that hath opprest
My soule with sorrow and surmounting smart.
Drawe me to mercie: for so oft as I
Presume to mercy to direct my sight,
My Chaos and my heape of sinne doth lie,
Betwene me and thy mercies shining light.
What euer way I gaze about for grace,
My filth and fault are euer in my face.

Anne Locke. Meditations of a Penitent Sinner.