If thou, good Lord, should'st take thy rod in hand, A O glorious God, O King, O Prince of power, May then have light To feel thy frown, if thou have list to lower? 4.. But thou art good, and hast of mercy store, True witness bear, How fast they stand, which on thy mercy stay. 5. I look for thee, my lovely Lord, therefore, Mine eyes do long to gaze on thee my fill, My love and lust In confidence continually shall cleave. 6. Before the break, or dawning of the day, Before the light be seen in lofty skies, Before the sun appear in pleasant wise, Before the watch (before the watch I say) Before the ward that waits therefore alway, My soul, my sense, my secret thought, my sprite, My will, my wish, my joy, and my delight, Unto the Lord that sits in heaven on high, With hasty wing From me doth fling, And striveth still unto the Lord to fly. 7. O Israel, O household of the Lord, O Abraham's brats, O brood of blessed seed, As on him call, And faithfully his mercies most esteem. 8. He will redeem our deadly drooping state, He will bring bale to joy and perfect bliss, From all that is, Or was amiss, Since Abraham's heirs did first his laws reject. GASCOIGNE PSALM CXXX.* FROM the deeps of grief and fear, What's done amiss, What soul so pure, Can see thy bliss ? A * Phineas Fletcher is well known to the reader of English Poetry as the author of the Purple Island; a poem very highly commended by Mr. Headley, who justly observes, that "it is to † Fletcher's honour that Milton read and imitated him," and adds that, "he is eminently entitled to a very high rank among our old English classics." After his Purple Island, and Piscatory Eclogues, follow "Certain of the Royal Prophet's Psalms metaphrased;" from these I have selected one, which appears to me very superior to the rest, and well worthy of republication. At Beauties of Ancient English Poetry. But with thee sweet mercy stands, Or tongue affords, Watch all his looks, Catch all his words. As a watchman waits for day, And looks for light, and looks again; When the night grows old and To be reliev'd he calls amain: So look, so wait, So long mine eyes grey, Wait, ye saints, wait on our Lord, For from his tongue sweet mercy flows; Upon that tree Redemption grows: He will redeem His Israel, Da From sin and wrath, From death and hell." P. FLETCHER. |