Lord, while that thy rage doth bide, Do not chide, Nor in anger chastise me; For thy shafts have pierced me sore, And yet more, Still thy hands upon me be. No sound part (caused by thy wrath) My flesh hath, Nor my sins let my bones rest; For my faults are highly spread On my head, Whose foul weights have me oppressed. My wounds putrefy and stink In the sink Of my filthy folly laid; Earthly do I bow and crook With a look Still in mourning cheer arrayed. In my reins hot torment reigns; There remains Nothing in my body sound; I am weak and broken sore, Yea, I roar, In my heart such grief is found. Lord, before thee I do lay What I pray; My sighs are not hid from thee; My heart pants, gone is my might; Even the light Of mine eyes abandons me. From my plague kin, neighbour, friend Far off wend; But who for my life do wait, They lay snares; they nimble be Who hunt me, Speaking evil, thinking deceit. But I like a man become Deaf and dumb, Little hearing, speaking less; I even as such kind of wight, Senseless quite, Word with word do not repress. For on thee, Lord, without end I attend; My God, thou wilt hear my voice; For I said, 'Hear, lest they be Glad on me Whom my fall doth make rejoice'. Sure I do but halting go, And my woe Still my o'erthwart neighbour is. Lo, I now to mourn begin For my sin, Telling mine iniquities. But the while they live and grow In great show, Many mighty wrongful foes Who do evil for good, to me Enemies be: Why? Because I virtue chose. Do not, Lord, then me forsake, Do not take Thy dear presence far from me; Haste, dear Lord, that I be stayed By thy aid; My salvation is in thee. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IT JUST SO HAPPENS by JAMES GALVIN MAGDALEN by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE RETURN (2) by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON A MOTHER TO HER SICK CHILD by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES THE LITTLE PEACH by EUGENE FIELD EPIGRAM: 118. ON GUT by BEN JONSON THE DESCRIPTION OF COOKHAM by AEMILIA (BASSANO) LANYER |