Classic Poem

My sinnes are like the haires upon my head
And raise their Audit to as high a score:
In this they differ: these doe dayly shed;
But ah! my sinnes grow dayly more and more.
If by my haires thou number out my sinnes;
Heaven make me bald before the day begins.

My sinnes are like the sands upon the shore;
Which every ebbe layes open to the eye:
In this they differ: These are cover'd o'er
With every tide, My sinnes still open lye.
If thou wilt make my head a sea of teares,
O they will hide the sinnes of all my yeares.

My sinnes are like the Starres within the skies,
In view, in number, even as bright as great:
In this they differ: these doe set and rise;
But ah! my sinnes doe rise, but never set.
Shine Son of glory, and my sinnes are gone
Like twinkling Starres before the rising Sunne.