Classic and Contemporary Poetry
PENITENTIAL PSALM: 32. NEATE QUORUM REMISSA SUNT, by THOMAS WYATT Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: O happy are they that have forgiveness got Last Line: Which to the lord with sober voice did say: Alternate Author Name(s): Wyat, Thomas | ||||||||
O happy are they that have forgiveness got Of their offense, not by their penitence As by merit which recompenseth not Although that yet pardon hath none offense Without the same, but by the goodness Of him that hath perfect intelligence Of heart contrite, and covereth the greatness Of sin within a merciful discharge. And happy are they that have the willfulness Of lust restrained, afore it went at large, Provoked by the dread of God's furor Whereby they have not on their backs the charge Of other's fault to suffer the dolor; For that their fault was never execute In open sight example of error. And happy is he to whom God doth impute No more his fault by knowledging his sin, But cleansed now the Lord doth him repute As adder fresh new stripped from his skin; Nor in his sprite is aught and undiscovered. I, for because I hid it still within, Thinking by state in fault to be preferred, Do find by hiding of my fault my harm, As he that feels his health to be hindered By secret wound concealed from the charm Of leech's cure, that else had had redress, And feel my bones consume and wax unfarm By daily rage roaring in excess. Thy heavy hand on me was so increased Both day and night, and held my heart in press With pricking thoughts bereaving me my rest, That withered is my lustiness away As summer heats that hath the green oppressed; Wherefore I did another way assay, And sought forthwith to open in Thy sight My fault, my fear, my filthiness, I say, And not to hide from Thee my great unright. I shall, quod I, against myself confess Unto the Lord all my sinful plight; And Thou forthwith didst wash the wickedness Off mine offense, of truth right thus it is. Wherefor they that have tasted Thy goodness At me shall take example as of this, And pray and seek in time for time of grace. Then shall the storms and floods of harm him miss, And him to reach shall never have the space. Thou art my refuge and only safeguard From the troubles that compass me the place. Such joy as he that 'scapes his enemies' ward With loosed bonds hath in his liberty, Such joy, my joy, Thou hast to me prepared; That as the seaman in his jeopardy By sudden light perceived hath the port, So by Thy great merciful property Within Thy look thus ready I my comfort. I shall thee teach and give understanding, And point to thee what way thou shalt resort; For thy address to keep thee from wandering, Mine eye shall take thee charge to be thy guide. I ask thereto of thee alone this thing: Be not like horse or mule that man doth ride, That not alone doth not his master know, But for the good thou dost him must be tied And bridled, lest his guide he bite or throw. Oh diverse are the chastisings of sin! In meat, in drink, in breath that man doth blow, In sleep, in watch, in freting still within, That never suffer rest unto the mind; Filled with offense, that new and new begin With thousand fears the heart to strain and bind. But for all this he that in God doth trust With mercy shall himself defended find. Joy and rejoice, I say, ye that be just, In Him that maketh and holdeth you so still; In Him your glory alway set you must, All ye that be of upright heart and will. This song ended, David did stint his voice, And in that while about he with his eye Did seek the cave with which withouten noise His silence seemed to argue and reply Upon this peace; this peace that did rejoice The soul with mercy, that mercy so did cry, And found mercy at mercy's plentiful hand, Never denied but where it was withstand. As the servant that in his master's face Finding pardon of his past offense, Considering his great goodness and his grace, Glad tears distills, as gladsome recompense; Right so David, that seemed in that place A marble image of singular reverence Carved in the rock, with eyes and hands on high, Made as by craft to plain, to sob, to sigh. This while a beam that bright sun forth sends, That sun the which was never cloud could hide, Pierceth the cave and on the harp descends, Whose glancing light the cords did overglide; And such luster upon the harp extends As light of lamp upon the gold clean tried: The turn whereof into his eyes did start, Surprised with joy, by penance of the heart. He then inflamed with far more hot affect Of God than he was erst of Bersabe, His left foot did on the earth erect, And just thereby remaineth the t' other knee; To his left side his weight he doth direct. Sure hope of health, and harp again taketh he; His hand his tune, his mind sought his lay, Which to the Lord with sober voice did say: | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest... |
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