Our vices often aggravate;
That preachers, taxing sin before her growth,
That Satan, and invenom❜d men,
Which will, if we starve, dine,
When they do most accuse us, may see then
Us to amendment hear them, thee decline;
That we may open our ears, Lord! lock thine.
That Learning, thine embassador,
From thine allegiance we never tempt;
That beauty, Paradise's flow'r,
For physic made, from poison be exempt;
That wit, born apt high good to do,
By dwelling lazily
On Nature's nothing, be not nothing too;
That our affections kill us not, nor die.
Hear us, weak Echoes, O thou ear and cry !
Son of God! hear us and since thou,
By taking our blood, ow'st it us again,
Gain to thyself and us allow,
And let not both us and thyself be slain.
O Lamb of God! which took'st our sin,
Which could not stick to thee,
O let it not return to us again!
But patient and physician being free,
As sin is nothing, let it no where be.
TRANSLATION OF THE PSALMS,
By Sir Philip Sidney, and the Countess of Pembroke, bis sister.
ETERNAL God! (for whom whoever dare
Seek new expressions do the circle square,
And thrust into straight corners of poor wit
Thee, who art cornerless and infinite)
I would but bless thy name, not name thee now;
(And thy gifts are as infinite as thou:)
Fix we our praises therefore on this one,
That as thy blessed Spirit fell upon
These Psalms' first author in a cloven tongue,
(For 't was a double power by which he sung,
The highest matter in the noblest form)
So thou hast cleft that Spirit, to perform
That work again, and shed it here upon
Two, by their bloods and by thy Spirit one;
A brother and a sister, made by thee
The organ, where thou art the harmony;
Two that make one John Baptist's holy voice;
And who that psalm, "Now let the isles rejoice,"
Have both translated, and apply'd it too;
Both told us what, and taught us how to do.
They shew us islanders our joy, our king;
They tell us why, and teach us how to sing. [spheres;
Make all this all, three choirs, heav'n, earth, and
The first, heav'n, hath a song, but no man hears;
The spheres have music, but they have no tongue,
Their harmony is rather dane'd than sung:
But our third choir, to which the first gives ear,
(For angels learn by what the church does here)
This choir hath all. The organist is he
Who hath tun'd God and man, the organ we;
The songs are these which Heav'n's high holy Muse
Whisper'd to David, David to the Jews,
And David's successors in holy zeal
In forms of joy and art do re-reveal
To us so sweetly and sincerely too,
That I must not rejoice as I would do,
When I behold that these Psalms are become
So well attir'd abroad, so ill at home;
So well in chambers, in thy church so ill,
As I can scarce call that Reform'd until
This be reform'd. Would a whole state present
A lesser gift than some one man hath sent ?
And shall our church unto our spouse and King
More hoarse, more harsh, than any other, sing?
For that we pray, we praise thy name for this,
Which by this Moses and this Miriam is
Already done; and as those Psalms we call
(Tho' some have other authors) David's all;
So tho' some have, some may some Psalms translate,
We thy Sydnean Psalms shall celebrate;
And till we come th' extemporal song to sing,
(Learned the first hour that we see the King,
Who hath translated those translators) may
These, their sweet learned labours, all the way
Be as our tuning, that when hence we part,
We may fall in with them, and sing our part.
A HYMN TO CHRIST,
AT THE AUTHOR'S LAST GOING INTO GERMANY.
In what torn ship soever I embark,
That ship shall be my emblem of thy ark;
What sea soever swallow me, that flood
Shall be to me an emblem of thy blood.
Tho' thou with clouds of anger do disguise
Thy face, yet thro' that mask I know those eyes,
Which, tho' they turn away sometimes,
I sacrifice this island unto thee,
And all whom I love here, and who love me;
When I have put this flood 'twixt them and me,
Put thou thy blood betwixt my sins and thee.
As the tree's sap doth seek the root below
In winter, in my winter now I go,
Where none but thee, th' Eternal root
Of true love, I may know.
Nor thou, nor thy religion, dost controul
The am'rousness of an harmonious soul;
But thou wouldst have that love thyself: as thou
Art jealous, Lord! so I am jealous now.
Thou lov'st not, till from loving more thou free
My soul whoever gives, takes liberty.
Oh! if thou car'st not whom I love,
Alas! thou lov'st not me.
Seal then this bill of my divorce to all
On whom those fainter beams of love did fall;
Marry those loves which in youth scatter'd be
On face, wit, hopes, (false mistresses) to thee.
Churches are best for prayer that have least light:
To see God only I go out of sight;
And to 'scape stormy days I chuse
An everlasting night.
He was the Word that spake it,
He took the bread and brake it;
And what that Word did make it,
I do believe and take it.
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