XVIII. Prayer for the Parliament.
God forbid that I should sin against the Lord, in ceasing to pray for you.
Yet Peace be in these walls! Upon them rest
The Royal Martyr's mantle from the skies,
Though little they Heav'n's sweet protection prize!
And haply so our prayers to our own breast
Unanswer'd may return, yet not unblest,
If thus our soul learn patience, and arise,
Good Charles, to thy diviner charities!
Albeit oft, with heavy thoughts opprest,
We see in them but clouds from our sick land,
And the dread sword unsheath'd in God's right hand.
Thus set we the soul's anchor, if it be
Right in th'All-seeing eyes, then be it so,
May the vex'd Church learn her true panoply,
And lift above the clouds her tranquil brow.
