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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
PSALM 139, by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE First Line: O lord, in me there lieth nought Last Line: Lord safelie guide from daunger brought. | |||
O lord in mee, there lieth nought but to thy search revealed lies for when I sitt thou markest it no lesse thou notest when I rise yea closest Closett of my thought hath open windowes to thine eyes. Thou walkest with mee, when I walke, when to my bedd for rest I goe I finde thee there and ev'rie where not youngest thought in mee doth growe, No not one word I caste to talke but yet unuttred thou dost knowe If foorth I march, thou goest before If back I turne, thou com'st behinde: So foorth nor backe, thy guard I lacke Naye on mee to thy hand I finde well I thy wisdome maie adore but never reach with Earthie mynde. To shunne thy notice leave thine eye, O whither might I take my waie? To Starrie Spheare? thy throne is there. To dead mens undelightsome staie, There is thy walke, and there to lie unknowne, in vaine I should assaie. O Sunne, whome light, nor flight can match: Suppose thy lightfull flightfull winges Thou lend to mee and I could flee as farr as thee, the ev'ning brings Ev'n ledd to west, he would mee Catch nor should I lurke with westerne things. Doe thou thy best O secret night, In sable vaile to cover mee: Thy sable vaile shall vainelie faile with daie unmaskt my night shalbe, For night is daie, and darknes light O father of all lightes to thee. Each innmoste peece in mee is thyne, while yet I in my Mother dwelt: All that mee cladd from thee I hadd thou in my frame, haste straungelie dealt, Needes in my praise, thy workes must shyne so inly them my thoughts have felt. Thou, how my backe was beamewise laide and raftering of my ribbs do'st knowe: know'st everie pointe of bone and jointe how to this whole theis partes did growe In brave imbrodrie faire array'd though wrought in shopp both darke, and lowe. Naie fashionles one forme I tooke, thy all, and more, behoulding eye My shapeles shape could not escape all theis with times appointed by Ere one had being, in the booke of thy foresight enrowld did lie My God, howe I theis studies prize, that doe thy hidden workings showe: whose some is such: no some so much, Naie sum'd as sand they summeles growe I lie to sleepe, from sleepe I rise yet still in thought with thee I goe. My God, if thou, but one would'st kill then straight would leave my further chase: This Curssed broode inur'd to blood, whose graceles taunts at thy disgrace have aymed ofte, and hating still would with prowde lies thy truth outface. Hate not I them, whoe thee doe hate? thine Lord, I will the censure be: Detest I not, the Cankred knott, whome I against thee banded see? O Lord, thou know'st in highest rate, I hate them all as foes to mee. Search mee my God, and prove my hart Examyn mee, and trie my thought: And marke in mee, if ought there be, that hath with cawse theire anger wrought. If not (as not) my lives each parte Lord safelie guide from daunger brought. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest... |
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