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DIVINE POEMS: AN ODE, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Lord, send thine hand
Last Line: Lest from myself my own self ruin be.
Alternate Author Name(s): Hall Of Durham, John


I

LORD, send thine hand
Unto my rescue, or I shall
Into mine own ambushments fall,
Which ready stand
To d' execution, all
Laid by self-love; O, what
Love of ourselves is that,
That breeds such uproars in our better state!

II

I think I pass
A meadow gilt with crimson showers
Of the most rich and beauteous flowers;
Yet thou, alas!
Espi'st what under lowers;
Taste them, they're poison; lay
Thyself to rest, there stray
Whole knots of snakes that solely wait for prey.

III

To dream of flight
Is more than madness: there will be
Either some strong necessity,
Or else delight,
To chain us, would we flee.
Thus do I wandering go,
And cannot poisons know
From wholesome simples that beside them grow.

IV

Blind that I am,
That do not see before mine eyes
These gazing dangers, that arise
Ever the same,
Or in varieties
Far worse, how shall I 'scape?
Or whither shall I leap?
Or with what comfort solace my hard hap?

V

Thou who alone
Canst give assistance, send me aid,
Else shall I in those depths be laid
And quickly thrown,
Whereof I am afraid:
Thou who canst stop the sea
In her mid rage, stop me;
Lest from myself my own self ruin be.





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