Greenes Funeralls | ||
Sonnet, XIIII.
[Lord, my dryrie foes, why doe they multiply?]
Lord, my dryrie foes, why doe they multiply?Me for to ruinate, sundry be couetous.
Him shildes not the Godhead, sundry say to my Soule.
Th' art Lord most vigilant, wholy my succorer,
And in thee all my stayinge, shall be harboured:
Th' art my most valiant victorie glorious.
To our Lord lowd I cried: from holy place heard he me.
In graue new buried, scarce haue I slumbred:
I rose to life againe, through God his holines.
I feare not furious multitude, infinite,
VVith compasse labouring, my body for to catch.
Rise Lord omnipotent, helpe me, my champion,
Lord, thy deare radiant, righteous equitie,
Hath squisde all my foes, falsely me ransaking.
Our Lord participiates, safetie with happines:
With gifts, heauenly Godhead, thy people amply blesse.
Amen.
Greenes Funeralls | ||