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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
PENITENTIAL PSALM: 51. MISERERE MEI, DOMINE, by THOMAS WYATT Poet Analysis Poet's Biography
First Line: Rue on me, lord, for thy goodness and grace
Last Line: And thus beginneth his song therewithal.
Alternate Author Name(s): Wyat, Thomas
First Line: Rue on me, lord, for thy goodness and grace
Last Line: And thus beginneth his song therewithal.
Alternate Author Name(s): Wyat, Thomas
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 weigh my sins that so Thy grace offend.
Again wash me, but wash me well within,
And from my sin that thus maketh me afraid
Make Thou me clean, as ay Thy wont hath been.
For unto Thee no number can be laid
For to prescribe remissions of offense
In hearts returned, as Thou Thyself hast said.
And I beknow my fault, my negligence,
And in my sight my sin is fixed fast,
Thereof to have more perfect penitence.
To Thee alone, to Thee have I trespassed,
For none can measure my fault but Thou alone;
For in Thy sight I have not been aghast
For to offend, judging Thy sight as none,
So that my fault were hid from sight of man,
Thy majesty so from my mind was gone:
This know I and repent. Pardon Thou then,
Whereby Thou shalt keep still Thy word stable,
Thy justice pure and clean; because that when
I pardoned am, then forthwith justly able,
Just I am judged by justice of Thy grace.
For I myself, lo, thing most unstable,
Formed in offense, conceived in like case,
Am naught but sin from my nativity.
Be not this said for my excuse, alas,
But of Thy help to show necessity:
For lo, Thou loves the truth of inward heart,
Which yet doth live in my fidelity;
Though I have fallen by frailty overthwart,
For willful malice led me not the way,
So much as hath the flesh drawn me apart.
Wherefore, O Lord, as Thou hast done alway,
Teach me the hidden wisdom of Thy lore,
Since that my faith doth not yet decay;
And as the juice do heal the leper sore
With hyssop cleanse, cleanse me, and I am clean.
Thou shalt me wash, and more than snow therefore
I shall be white. How foul my fault hath been!
Thou of my health shalt gladsome tidings bring,
When from above remission shall be seen
Descend on earth; then shall for joy upspring
The bones that were afore consumed to dust.
Look not, O Lord, upon mine offending,
But do away my deeds that are unjust.
Make a clean heart in the mids of my breast
With sprite upright, voided from filthy lust.
From Thine eye's cure cast me not in unrest,
Nor take from me Thy sprite of holiness.
Render to me joy of Thy help and rest;
My will confirm with sprite of steadfastness:
And by this shall these goodly things ensue.
Sinners I shall in to Thy ways address:
They shall return to Thee and Thy grace sue.
My tongue shall praise Thy justification
My mouth shall spread Thy glorious praises true.
But of Thyself, O God, this operation
It must proceed by purging me from blood,
Among the just that I may have relation;
And of Thy lauds for to let out the flood,
Thou must, O Lord, my lips first unloose:
For if Thou hadst esteemed pleasant good
The outward deeds that outward men disclose,
I would have offered unto thee sacrifice.
But Thou delightest not in no such glose
Of outward deed, as men dream and devise.
The sacrifice that the Lord liketh most
Is sprite contrite. Low heart in humble wise
Thou dost accept, O God, for pleasant host.
Make Sion, Lord, according to Thy will,
Inward Sion, the Sion of the ghost:
Of heart's Jerusalem strength the walls still.
Then shalt Thou take for good these outward deeds,
As sacrifice Thy pleasure to fulfill.
Of thee alone thus all our good proceeds.
Of deep secrets that David here did sing,
Of mercy, of faith, of frailty, of grace,
Of God's goodness and of justifying,
The greatness did so astone himself a space,
As who might say: who hath expressed this thing?
I sinner, I, what have I said, alas?
That God's goodness would within my song entreat,
Let me again consider and repeat.
And so he doth; but not expressed by word:
But in his heart he turneth and payseth
Each word that erst his lips might forth afford.
He points, he pauseth, he wonders, he praiseth
The mercy that hides of justice the sword,
The justice that so his promise complyseth,
For his word's sake, to worthiless desert,
That gratis his graces to men doth depart.
Here hath he comfort when he doth measure
Measureless mercies to measureless fault;
To prodigal sinners infinite treasure,
Treasure termless that never shall default.
Yea, when that sin shall fail and may not dure,
Mercy shall reign; gain whom shall, no assault
Of hell prevail; by whom, lo, at this day,
Of heaven gates remission is the kay.
And when David hath pondered well and tried,
And seeth himself not utterly deprived
From light of grace that dark of sin did hide,
He finds his hope so much therewith revived
He dare importune the Lord on every side;
For he knoweth well to mercy is ascribed
Respectless labor, importune cry and call:
And thus beginneth his song therewithal.