Yes, O my God! sins that so vastly rise, Leave to thy greatness but the choice of woes, Thy throne’s high interest my bliss denies, And mercy’s self stands watching for my throes. Sate thy revenge, for this thy glory cries, Scorn thou the tears which overflow mine eyes, Launch lightnings, ’tis high time, I war invoke, And, doomed, I worship, sinking in the flood; Yet on what spot shall fall thy thunderstroke, Not wholly covered with my Saviour’s blood? Transcriber’s Notes --Copyright information preserved from the original printed edition; this is public domain in the country of publication. --Based on scans generously made available by the Internet Archive, http://archive.org/breakingcruciblalexgoog --The cover to the electronic edition is original, provided for unrestricted use with this eBook. End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Breaking Crucible, by Various