Words: , cir­ca 860 (Τῶν ἁμαρτῶν μου τὴν πληῦν); trans­lat­ed from Greek to Eng­lish by , Hymns of the East­ern Church, 1862.

This is the op­en­ing line of a cen­to tak­en from a long Ca­non for the Mon­day of the First Tone in the Par­a­cle­ti­ce. It is vir­tu­al­ly, as com­piled by Dr. Neale, a new po­em, rep­re­sent­ing nei­ther the form nor the idea of the orig­in­al.

Music: St. Bride, , 1762.

And wilt Thou pardon, Lord,
A sinner such as I,
Although Thy book his crimes record,
Of such a crimson dye?

So deep are they engraved,
So terrible their fear,
The righteous scarcely shall be saved,
And where shall I appear?

O Thou Physician blest,
Make clean my guilty soul
And me, by many a sin oppressed,
Restore and keep me whole.

I know not how to praise
Thy mercy and Thy love;
But deign my soul from earth to raise
And learn from Thee above.