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Thou mightest then have turned wrath
To mercy then and mercy great,
But now the Lord is very loth,
And all thy cries not worth a jot.
Ah! Peter then what shall I do?
He will not hear me as I hear,
Shall I despair of mercy too!
No no I'll trust in mercy dear:
And if I perish here I'll stay,
And never go from heaven bright;
I'll ever hope and always pray,
Until I get my Saviour's sight.
I think indeed you now are right,
If you had faith you would win in:
Importune then with all your might,
Faith is the feet wherewith ye come.
It is the hands will hold him fast,
But weak faith never may presume;
'Twill let you sink, and be aghast.
Strongly believe or you're undone.
But good Saint Peter, let me be,
Had you such faith did it abound?
When you did walk upon the sea,
Were ye not likely to be drown'd?
Had not our Saviour helped thee,
Who came and took thee by the hand:
So can my Lord do unto me,
And bring to the promis'd land,
Is my faith weak? Yea he is still
The same and ever shall remain;
His mercies last and his good will,
