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Miserere, my Maker,
O have mercy on me, wretch, strangely distressèd,
Cast down with sin oppressèd;
Mightily vexed to the soul’s bitter anguish,
E’en to the death I languish.
Yet let it please Thee
To hear my ceaseless crying:
Miserere, miserere, I am dying.

Miserere, my Saviour,
I, alas, am for my sins fearfully grievèd,
And cannot be relievèd
But by Thy death, which Thou didst suffer for me,
Wherefore I adore Thee.
And do beseech Thee
To hear my ceaseless crying:
Miserere, miserere, I am dying.

Holy Spirit, miserere,
Comfort my distressèd soul, grieved for youth’s folly,
Purge, cleanse and make it holy;
With Thy sweet due of grace and peace inspire me,
How I desire Thee.
And strengthen me now
In this, my ceaseless crying:
Miserere, miserere, I am dying.

—Anonymous, c. 1615
[Note: "Miserere" is the first word of the 51st Psalm in Latin]