Praise (II)

King of glorie, King of peace,
  I will love thee:
And that love may never cease,
  I will move thee.
Thou hast granted my request,
  Thou hast heard me:
Thou didst note my working breast,
  Thou hast spar'd me.
Wherefore with my utmost art
  I will sing thee,
And the cream of all my heart
  I will bring thee.
Though my sinnes against me cried,
  Thou didst cleare me;
And alone when they replied,
  Thou didst heare me.
Sev'n whole dayes, not one in seven,
  I will praise thee.
In my heart, though not in heaven,
  I can raise thee.
Thou grew'st soft and moist with tears,
  Thou dissentedst.
Small it is, in this poore sort
  To enroll thee:
Ev'n eternitie is too short
  To extoll thee.