Laude, laude we, lowd with verse, with voice and strings,
The GOD of GOD's, the glorious King of Kings:
Whose Power, alone, pulls Tyrants down, and reareth
Meek in their Room, who HIM ay-faithfull feareth.
For, who would thinke, one Citie, in one Day,
So suddainly could such an Hoast dismay,
Whose high Exploits had all the World astounded,
And, from the Indes, to Iapheths Inns resounded?
Lord! who would think, that Holofernes, late
Proud Conqueror of many a Potentate,
Should lose his Life (for all his Selfe-affiance)
By one weak Woman, not a Troop of Giants?
Who, who would thinke, that HE, who late possest
(At least, had power) from farthest East to West,
From Pole to Pole stretching his arms all-over,
Should not haue, left, one Inch of Turfe, for Cover?
That stately Prince, so thick attended-on,
Now dead (alas!) lyes, aboue ground alone;
Yet, not alone: for, Those that seru'd him, living;
Consort him, dead; Proofe of their Duties giving:
Nor yet, aboue ground; for, the Ravens become
His mingled Bodie's better-worthy Toomb,
Then pretious Marble, let, and Iacynth gilded;
Which, for his Bones Himselfe had proudly builded.
So so (good Lord) from Hence-forth let vs finde
Thee, not our Iudge, but as our Father kinde;
And so, Hence-forth the Foes of SION rather
Feele Thee their Iudge then their propitious Father.
