English

INTRODUCTION

There are who scorn the Muse's soothing power,
And deem the rhyming art an idle thing
To please the wealthy in a tedious hour,
And will not deign to hear its vor'ries sing; —
Though Pegasus, they say, be swift of wing,
'Tis but a woful waste of time to ride it,
And that, to want it seldom fails to bring
Each vain and hapless bard that doth bestride it.

Weighed down by worldly cares, and fruitless sighs,

Hear my prayer, O Lord, hear my request.
Complish my boon, answer to my desire
Not by desert but for thine own behest
In whose firm truth thou promised mine empire
To stand stable. And after thy justice
Perform, O Lord, the thing that I require;
But not of law after the form and guise
To enter judgement with thy thrall bondslave
To plead his right, for in such manner wise
Before thy sight no man his right shall save.
For of myself, lo, this my righteousness,
By scourge and whip and pricking spurs I have

From depth of sin and from a deep despair,
From depth of death, from depth of heart's sorrow,
From this deep cave of darkness' deep repair,
Thee have I called, O Lord, to be my borrow.
Thou in my voice, O Lord, perceive and hear
My heart, my hope, my plaint, my overthrow,
My will to rise, and let by grant appear
That to my voice thine ears do well intend.
No place so far that to thee is not near;
No depth so deep that thou ne mayst extend
Thine ear thereto. Hear then my woeful plaint.

Lord, hear my prayer and let my cry pass
Unto thee, Lord, without impediment.
Do not from me turn thy merciful face,
Unto myself leaving my government.
In time of trouble and adversity
Incline to me thine ear and thine intent.
And when I call, help my necessity,
Readily grant th'effect of my desire.
These bold demands do please thy majesty
And eke my case such haste doth well require.
For like as smoke my days been passed away,
My bones dried up as furnace with the fire.
My heart, my mind is withered up like hay

Rue on me, Lord, for thy goodness and grace,
That of thy nature art so bountiful,
For that goodness that in the world doth brace
Repugnant natures in quiet wonderful.
And for thy mercies' number without end,
In heaven and earth perceived so plentiful
That over all they do themselves extend,
For those mercies much more than man can sin,
Do way my sins that so thy grace offend.
Again wash me, but wash me well within,
And from my sin that thus mak'th me afraid
Make thou me clean as ay thy wont hath been.

O Lord, as I thee have both prayed and pray,
(Although in thee be no alteration
But that we men like as ourselves we say,
Measuring thy justice by our mutation)
Chastise me not, O Lord, in thy furor
Nor me correct in wrathful castigation.
For that thy arrows of fear, of terror,
Of sword, of sickness, of famine and fire
Sticks deep in me, I, lo, from mine error
Am plunged up, as horse out of the mire
With stroke of spur. Such is thy hand on me
That in my flesh for terror of thy ire
Is not one point of firm stability,

O happy are they that have forgiveness got
Of their offence, not by their penitence,
As by merit, which recompenseth not
(Although that yet pardon hath none offence
Without the same), but by the goodness
Of him that hath perfect intelligence
Of heart contrite and cover'th the greatness
Of sin within a merciful discharge.
And happy are they that have the wilfulness
Of lust retrained, afore it went at large,
Provoked by the dread of God's furor;
Whereby they have not on their backs the charge

O Lord, since in my mouth thy mighty name
Suffer'th itself " my Lord" to name and call,
Here hath my heart hope taken by the same
That the repentance which I have, and shall,
May at thy hand seek mercy as the thing,
Only comfort of wretched sinners all;
Whereby I dare with umble bemoaning,
By thy goodness, of thee this thing require.
Chastise me not for my deserving
According to thy just conceived ire.
O Lord, I dread, and that I did not dread
I me repent, and evermore desire
Thee, thee to dread. I open here and spread

1.

Praise, O praise, the Name divine;
Praise it at the hallow'd Shrine;
Let the Firmament on high
To its Maker's praise reply.

2.

Let each tongue, and let each chord
Praise the name of Jacob 's Lord,
Let his Acts, and Pow'r supreme,
To your Songs suggest a theme.

3.

Be the harp no longer mute;
Sound the trumpet, touch the lute;
Wake to life each tuneful string;
Bring the pipe, the timbrel bring.

4.

Let the organ in his praise

1.

Sing to our God the new-form'd lay;
Ye Souls who his commands obey,
Assembling join your thankful tongues,
And hallow with his praise your Songs.

2.

O Israel , let thy Maker's Name
With joyous zeal thy breast inflame,
And Sion 's sons exulting sing
The Mercies of their heav'nly King.

3.

Range in the dance the sacred Band,
And urge the Minstrel's well-taught hand
To strike the loud-resounding lyre,
While timbrels in his praise conspire.

4.