My voice to thee it selfe extreamelie straining cries praieng lord, againe it crieng praieth before thy face, the cause of my complaining: before thy face, my cases Mapp it laieth wherein my Soule is painted in doubtfull waies a straunger; But lord, thou art acquainted and knowest each pathe, where sticke the toiles of daunger. For mee, myne eye to everie coaste dirrected lights not on one that will so much as knowe mee my life by all neglected ev'n hope of helpe is nowe quite perisht from mee. Then with good cawse, to thee my spirit flieth: flieth and saith: O lord my safe abiding abides in thee, in thee all onelie lieth Lott of my life, and plott of my residing. Alas, then yeeld me hearing for weeryeng woes have spent mee And save mee from theire tearing whoe hunte mee hard, and dailie worsse torment mee. O chaunge my state, unthrall my Soule inthralled: Of my escape then will I tell the storie: And with a crowne enwalled Of godlie men, will glorie in thy glorye. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BARD; A PINDARIC ODE by THOMAS GRAY THE FINDING OF THE LYRE by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL ALASTOR; OR, THE SPIRIT OF SOLITUDE by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY THE FAMINE YEAR by JANE FRANCESCA WILDE THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS by MARIA ABDY THE POET, AND HIS INTERPRETERS by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON SONNET: 8. TO THE RIVER ITCHIN, NEAR WINTON by WILLIAM LISLE BOWLES |