The Poems of Alexander Montgomerie Edited by James Cranstoun |
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II. |
III. |
IV. |
V. |
VI. |
VII. |
VIII. |
IX. |
X. |
XI. |
XII. |
XIII. |
XIV. |
XV. |
XVI. |
XVII. |
XVIII. |
XIX. |
XX. |
XXI. |
XXII. |
XXIII. |
XXIV. |
XXV. |
XXVI. |
XXVII. |
XXVIII. |
XXIX. |
XXX. |
XXXI. |
XXXII. |
XXXIII. |
XXXIV. |
XXXV. |
XXXVI. |
XXXVII. |
XXXVIII. |
XXXIX. |
XL. |
XLI. |
XLII. |
XLIII. |
XLIV. |
XLV. |
XLVI. |
XLVII. |
XLVIII. |
XLIX. |
L. |
LI. |
LII. |
LIII. |
LIV. |
LV. |
LVI. |
LVII. |
LVIII. |
LIX. |
LX. |
LXI. |
LXII. |
LXIII. |
LXIV. |
LXV. |
LXVI. |
LXVII. |
LXVIII. |
LXIX. |
LXX. |
The Poems of Alexander Montgomerie | ||
PSALME LVII.
Have reuth on me—
Haue reuth on me,
O Lord, from hie,
Haue mercy, Lord: in thee my soule doth trust:
Vntill at last
This stormie blast
Be ouer-past,
In shadow of thy winges my hope shall rest.
On God most high I call,
My heart's delyte;
Who will his promise all
To me perfite.
From heauen's throne,
He will send downe,
And saue me from the sharp rebuke and shame
Of cruell foes
That me inclose:
His mercie sure shall keepe me from al blame.
Haue reuth on me,
O Lord, from hie,
258
Vntill at last
This stormie blast
Be ouer-past,
In shadow of thy winges my hope shall rest.
On God most high I call,
My heart's delyte;
Who will his promise all
To me perfite.
From heauen's throne,
He will send downe,
And saue me from the sharp rebuke and shame
Of cruell foes
That me inclose:
His mercie sure shall keepe me from al blame.
I lie beset
With lyons net;
And men are met,
In fyrie rage, my seelie soule to catch;
Whose teeth, I weene,
Like arrowes keene
Are to be seene;
Their tongues like swordes, some mischeef for to hatch.
Exalt thy selfe, therefore,
The heauens aboue:
On earth shew forth thy glore,
And power proue.
A snare is made,
And grins are laide,
My steps to trap, my fate to fold withall.
I am opprest:
A ditche is drest
For me—bot, loe! my foes therein doe fall.
With lyons net;
And men are met,
In fyrie rage, my seelie soule to catch;
Whose teeth, I weene,
Like arrowes keene
Are to be seene;
Their tongues like swordes, some mischeef for to hatch.
Exalt thy selfe, therefore,
The heauens aboue:
On earth shew forth thy glore,
And power proue.
A snare is made,
And grins are laide,
My steps to trap, my fate to fold withall.
I am opprest:
A ditche is drest
For me—bot, loe! my foes therein doe fall.
259
My heart is bent,
And permanent,
With full intent
To praise the Lord, and to extoll his name.
“My tongue,” alway
“Awake,” I say,
By breake of day:
“My harpe, in haste, and viole, doe the same.”
I will thee praise among
The people all:
As God and Lord most strong
Thee praise I shall.
Thy mercies grit,
And treuth perfite
Doe reache vnto the heauens and cloudie sky:
Exalt, therefore,
Thy name and glore
Aboue the clouds and limites of the day.
And permanent,
With full intent
To praise the Lord, and to extoll his name.
“My tongue,” alway
“Awake,” I say,
By breake of day:
“My harpe, in haste, and viole, doe the same.”
I will thee praise among
The people all:
As God and Lord most strong
Thee praise I shall.
Thy mercies grit,
And treuth perfite
Doe reache vnto the heauens and cloudie sky:
Exalt, therefore,
Thy name and glore
Aboue the clouds and limites of the day.
The Poems of Alexander Montgomerie | ||