O Holy Ghost, whose temple I Am, but of mudde walls, and condensed dust, And being sacrilegiously Halfe wasted with youths fires, of pride and lust, Must with new stormes be weatherbeat; Double in my heart thy flame, Which let devout sad teares intend; and let (Though this glasse lanthorne, flesh, do suffer maime) Fire, Sacrifice, Priest, Altar be the same.
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