Oh I wish that it were my flesh that sinned, and not my eternal soul.

For that my sin could decompose along side my skin and bones.

I wish it were my flesh that sinned, but alas it is my soul.

Poor my flesh is my soul's whipping boy, flesh pays the sinner's toll.

Oh that it were my flesh! I could conscience keep clear as rain!

But alas, my soul controls my flesh, my flesh looks upon my soul with disdain.

And I can never decide most which to lament: my mournful soul, soaked in woe?

Or my flesh that cannot repent?