But to thy search revealed lies, For when I sit Thou markest it; No less thou notest when I rise; Yea, closest closet of my thought Hath open windows to thine eyes. Thou walkest with me when I walk; When to my bed for rest I go, I find thee there, And everywhere: Not youngest thought in me doth grow, No, not one word I cast to talk But yet unuttered thou dost know. If forth I march, thou goest before, If back I turn, thou com'st behind: So forth nor back Thy guard I lack, Nay on me too, thy hand I find. Well I thy wisdom may adore, But never reach with earthy mind. To shun thy notice, leave thine eye, O whither might I take my way? To starry sphere? Thy throne is there. To dead men's undelightsome stay? There is thy walk, and there to lie Unknown, in vain I should assay. O sun, whom light nor flight can match, Suppose thy lightful flightful wings Thou lend to me, And I could flee As far as thee the evening brings: Even led to west he would me catch, Nor should I lurk with western things. Do thou thy best, O secret night, In sable veil to cover me: Thy sable veil Shall vainly fail; With day unmasked my night shall be, For night is day, and darkness light, O father of all lights, to thee. Each inmost piece in me is thine: While yet I in my mother dwelt, All that me clad From thee I had. Thou in my frame hast strangely dealt: Needs in my praise thy works must shine So inly them my thoughts have felt. Thou, how my back was beam-wise laid, And raft'ring of my ribs, dost know; Know'st every point Of bone and joint, How to this whole these parts did grow, In brave embroid'ry fair arrayed, Though wrought in shop both dark and low. Nay fashionless, ere form I took, Thy all and more beholding eye My shapeless shape Could not escape: All these time framed successively Ere one had being, in the book Of thy foresight enrolled did lie. My God, how I these studies prize, That do thy hidden workings show! Whose sum is such No sum so much, Nay, summed as sand they sumless grow. I lie to sleep, from sleep I rise, Yet still in thought with thee I go. My God, if thou but one wouldst kill, Then straigh would leave my further chase This cursed brood Inured to blood, Whose graceless taunts at thy disgrace Have aimed oft; and hating still Would with proud lies thy truth outface. Hate not I them, who thee do hate? Thine, Lord, I will the censure be. Detest I not The cankered knot Whom I against thee banded see? O Lord, thou know'st in highest rate I hate them all as foes to me. Search me, my God, and prove my heart, Examine me, and try my thought; And mark in me If ought there be That hath with cause their anger wrought. If not (as not) my life's each part, Lord, safely guide from danger brought.
(Wr. probably before 1599; pub. 1823)
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Text source: The New Oxford Book of Sixteenth Century Verse. Emrys Jones, Ed. New York: Oxford Univ Press, 1992. 475-477. |
Saturday, June 23, 2012
Psalm 139 by Mary (Sidney) Herbert, Countess of Pembroke
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