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Hear us; for till thou hear us, Lord!

We know not what to say:

Thine ear to' our sighs, tears, thoughts, gives voice and

O thou! who Satan heardst in Job's sick day,

Hear thyself now, for thou in us dost pray.

XXIV.

That we may change to evenness
This intermitting aguish piety;
That snatching cramps of wickedness,-
And apoplexies of fast sin may die;
That music of thy promises,

Not threats in thunder, may"

Awaken us to our just offices;

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What in thy book thou dost, or creatures say,
That we may hear, Lord! hear us, when we pray.

XXV.

That our ears' sickness we may cure,

And rectify those labyrinths aright;
That we by hark'ning not procure

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Our praise, nor other's dispraise so invite;
That we get not a slipp'riness,

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And senselesly decline,

From hearing, bold wits jest at king's excess,
T'admit the like of Majesty divine;

That we may lock our ears, Lord! open thine.

XXVI.

That living law, the magistrate,

Which to give us and make us physic doth

Our vices often aggravate;

That preachers, taxing sin before her growth,
That Satan, and invenom'd men,

Which will, if we starve, dine,

When they do most accuse us, may see then
Us to amendment hear them, thee decline;
That we may open our ears, Lord! lock thine.

XXVII.

That Learning, thine embassador,
From thine allegiance we never tempt;
That beauty, Paradise's flow'r,

For physic made, from poison be exempt;
That wit, born apt high good to do,

By dwelling lazily

On Nature's nothing, be not nothing too;
That our affections kill us not, nor die.
Hear us, weak Echoes, O thou ear and cry L

XXVIII.

Son of God! hear us; and since thou,
By taking our blood, ow'st it us again,
Gain to thyself and us allow,

And let not both us and thyself be slain.
O Lamb of God! which took'st our sin,
Which could not stick to thee,

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O let it not return to us again!
But patient and physician being free,
As sin is nothing, let it no where be.

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252

UPON THE

TRANSLATION OF THE PSALMS,

By Sir Philip Sidney, and the Countess of Pembroke, bis sister.

ETERNAL God! (for whom whoever dare
Seek new expressions do the circle square,
And thrust into straight corners of poor wit
Thee, who art cornerless and infinite)

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I would but bless thy name, not name thee now;
(And thy gifts are as infinite as thou:)

Fix we our praises therefore on this one,
That as thy blessed Spirit fell upon
These Psalms' first author in a cloven tongue,
(For 't was a double power by which he sung,
The highest matter in the noblest form)
So thou hast cleft that Spirit, to perform
That work again, and shed it here upon
Two, by their bloods and by thy Spirit one;
A brother and a sister, made by thee
The organ, where thou art the harmony;
Two that make one John Baptist's holy voice;
And who that psalm, "Now let the isles rejoice,"
Have both translated, and apply'd it too;

Both told us what, and taught us how to do.
They shew us islanders our joy, our king;

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They tell us why, and teach us how to sing. [spheres; Make all this all, three choirs, heav'n, earth, and The first, heav'n, hath a song, but no man hears;

Or as tho' one blood drop, which thence did fall,
Accepted, would have serv'd, he yet shed all:
So tho' the least of his pains, deeds or words,
Would busy a life, she all this day affords.
This treasure then in gross, my soul! up-lay,
And in my life retail it every day.

GOOD-FRIDAY, 1613.

RIDING WESTWARD.

46

LET

ET man's soul be a sphere, and then in this
Th' intelligence that moves, devotion is;
And as the other spheres, by being grown
Subject to foreign motion, lose their own,
And being by others hurried every day,
Scarce in a year their natural form obey:
Pleasure or business so our souls admit

For their first mover, and are whirl'd by it.
Hence is 't that I am carried t'wards the west

This day, when my soul's form bends to the east; to

There I should see a sun by rising set,

And by that setting endless day beget.

But that Christ on his cross did rise and fall,

Sin had eternally benighted all.

Yet dare I almost be glad I do not see

That spectacle of too much weight for me.

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Who sees God's face, that is self-life, must die;
What a death were it then to see God die?
It made his own lieutenant, Nature, shrink;
It made his footstool crack, and the sun wink.
Could I behold those hands which span the poles,
And tune all spheres at once, pierc'd with those holes?
Could I behold that endless height which is

Zenith to us and our antipodes,

Humbled below us? or that blood, which is
The seat of all our souls, if not of his,
Made dirt of dust? or that flesh, which was worn
By God for his apparel, ragg'd and torn?
If on these things I durst not fook, durst I'
On his distressed mother cast'miné eye,

Who was God's partner here, and fur ish'd thus
Half of that sacrifice which ransom'd'us?

Tho' these things, as I ride, be from mine eye,

They 're present yet unto my memory,

For that looks towards them, and thou look'st towards

O Saviour! as thou hang'st upon the tree.

[me,

I turn my back to thee, but to receive
Corrections, till thy mercies bid thee leave.
O think me worth thine anger; punish me,

Burn off my rust, and my deformity;'
Restore thine image so much by thy grace,

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That thou may'st know me, and I'll turn my face. 42

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