Perhaps the fact, of which we are informed by Izaak Walton, "that he caused it to be set to a grave and solemn tune, and to be often sung to the organ by the choristers of St.
Paul's church in his own hearing, especially at the evening service," may have something to do with its degree of perfection.

There is no sign of his usual haste about it.

It is even elaborately rhymed after Norman fashion, the rhymes in each stanza being consonant with the rhymes in every stanza.
A HYMN TO GOD THE FATHER.
Wilt thou forgive that sin where I begun, Which was my sin, though it were done before ?[73] Wilt thou forgive that sin, through which I run,[74] And do run still, though still I do deplore ?-- When thou hast done, thou hast not done; For I have more.
Wilt thou forgive that sin which I have won Others to sin, and made my sins their door ?[75] Wilt thou forgive that sin which I did shun A year or two, but wallowed in a score ?-- When thou hast done, thou hast not done; For I have more.
I have a sin of fear, that when I've spun My last thread, I shall perish on the shore; But swear by thyself, that at my death thy Son Shall shine, as he shines now and heretofore; And having done that, thou hast done: I fear no more.
In those days even a pun might be a serious thing: witness the play in the last stanza on the words _son_ and _sun_--not a mere pun, for the Son of the Father is the Sun of Righteousness: he is Life _and_ Light.
What the Doctor himself says concerning the hymn, appears to me not only interesting but of practical value.

He "did occasionally say to a friend, 'The words of this hymn have restored to me the same thoughts of joy that possessed my soul in my sickness, when I composed it.'" What a help it would be to many, if in their more gloomy times they would but recall the visions of truth they had, and were assured of, in better moments! Here is a somewhat strange hymn, which yet possesses, rightly understood, a real grandeur: A HYMN TO CHRIST _At the Author's last going into Germany_.[76] In what torn ship soever I embark, That ship shall be my emblem of thy ark; What sea soever swallow me, that flood Shall be to me an emblem of thy blood.
Though thou with clouds of anger do disguise Thy face, yet through that mask I know those eyes, Which, though they turn away sometimes-- They never will despise.
I sacrifice this island unto thee, And all whom I love here and who love me: When I have put this flood 'twixt them and me, Put thou thy blood betwixt my sins and thee.
As the tree's sap doth seek the root below In winter, in my winter[77] now I go Where none but thee, the eternal root Of true love, I may know.
Nor thou, nor thy religion, dost control The amorousness of an harmonious soul; But thou wouldst have that love thyself: as thou Art jealous, Lord, so I am jealous now.
Thou lov'st not, till from loving more thou free My soul: who ever gives, takes liberty: Oh, if thou car'st not whom I love, Alas, thou lov'st not me! Seal then this bill of my divorce to all On whom those fainter beams of love did fall; Marry those loves, which in youth scattered be On face, wit, hopes, (false mistresses), to thee.
Churches are best for prayer that have least light: To see God only, I go out of sight; And, to 'scape stormy days, I choose An everlasting night To do justice to this poem, the reader must take some trouble to enter into the poet's mood.
It is in a measure distressing that, while I grant with all my heart the claim of his "Muse's white sincerity," the taste in--I do not say _of_--some of his best poems should be such that I will not present them.
Out of twenty-three _Holy Sonnets_, every one of which, I should almost say, possesses something remarkable, I choose three.

Rhymed after the true Petrarchian fashion, their rhythm is often as bad as it can be to be called rhythm at all.