Lord, let not me, a worm, by thee be shent, While thou art in the heat of thy displeasure; Ne let thy rage of my due punishment Become the measure. But mercy, Lord, let mercy thine descend, For I am weak, and in my weakness languish; Lord, help, for even my bones their marrow spend With cruel anguish. Nay, even my soul fell troubles do appal; Alas, how long, God, wilt thou delay me? Turn thee, sweet Lord, and from this ugly fall My dear God, stay me. Mercy, O mercy, Lord, for mercy's sake, For death doth kill the witness of thy glory: Can of thy praise the tongues entombed make A heavenly story? Lo, I am tired, while still I sigh and groan: My moistened bed proofs of my sorrow showeth; My bed, while I with black night mourn alone, With my tears floweth. Woe, like a moth, my face's beauty eats, And age pulled on with pains all freshness fretteth, The while a swarm of foes with vexing feats My life besetteth. Get hence, you evil, who in my evil rejoice, In all whose works vainness is ever reigning; For God hath heard the weeping, sobbing voice Of my complaining. The Lord my suit did hear, and gently hear; They shall be shamed and vexed, that breed my crying; And turn their backs, and straight on backs appear Their shameful flying. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TOUJOURS AMOUR by EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN THE INDIGNANT CAPTAIN OF INDUSTRY by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS THE SWISS EMIGRANT by LUCY AIKEN FAREWELL TO SUMMER by GEORGE ARNOLD INVITES HIS NYMPH TO HIS COTTAGE by PHILIP AYRES TO HIS WORSHIPFULL WEL-WILLER, MAISTER EDWARD LEIGH by RICHARD BARNFIELD |