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O Lord our father deere, through thy beloued Sonne,
Who els art but an vpright iudge, to geue vs dolefull doome.
Thy seate is in the heauens, which man cannot conceaue.
Contayning all thinges, not contaynd, whome time is faine to leaue,
To whome all prayse is due, thy name most reuerent.
Whose kingdome still must rayne and rule, thy purpose permanent.
Beholde thy children poore, oppressed sore with sinne.
The burthen greate, we cannot beare, the weight that is therin.
Behold vs lothsome whelpes, to whome no bread is due,
which we must needs confesse O Lord, to be ...