The Poems of James VI. of Scotland :: :: University of Virginia Library

O Lord inspyre my spreit and pen, to praise
Thy Name, whose greatnes far surpassis all:
That syne, I may thy gloir and honour blaise,
Which cleithis the ouer: about the lyke a wall
The light remainis. O thow, whose charge and call,
Made Heauens lyke courtenis for to spred abreid,
Who bowed the waters so, as serue they shall
For cristall syilring ouer thy house to gleid.

Who walks vpon the wings of restles winde,
Who of the clouds his chariot made, euen he,
Who in his presence still the spreits doeth find,
Ay ready to fulfill ilk iust decrie
Of his, whose seruants fyre and flammis they be.
Who set the earth on her fundations sure,
So as her brangling none shall euer see:
Who at thy charge the deip vpon her bure.

So, as the very tops of mountains hie
Be fluidis were onis ouerflowed at thy command,
Ay whill thy thundring voice sone made them flie
Ower hiddeous hills and howes, till noght but sand
Was left behind, syne with thy mightie hand
Thow limits made vnto the roring deip.
So shall she neuer droun againe the land,
But brek her wawes on rockis, her mairch to keip.

Thir are thy workis, who maid the strands to breid,
Syne rinn among the hills from fountains cleir,
Whairto wyld Asses oft dois rinn with speid,
With vther beasts to drinke. Hard be we heir
The chirping birds among the leaues, with beir
To sing, whil all the rocks about rebounde.
A woundrous worke, that thow, ô Father deir,
Maks throtts so small yeild furth so great a sound!

O thow who from thy palace oft letts fall
(For to refresh the hills) thy blessed raine:
Who with thy works mainteins the earth and all:
Who maks to grow the herbs and grass to gaine.

The herbs for foode to man, grass dois remaine
For food to horse, and cattell of all kynde.
Thow causest them not pull at it in vaine,
But be thair foode: such is thy will and mynde.

Who dois reioyse the hart of man with wyne,
And who with oyle his face maks cleir and bright,
And who with foode his stomack strengthnes syne
Who nurishes the very treis aright.
The Cedars evin of Liban tale and wight
He planted hath, where birds do bigg their nest.
He made the Firr treis of a woundrous hight,
Where Storks dois mak thair dwelling place, & rest.

Thow made the barren hills, wylde goats refuge,
Thow maid the rocks, a residence and rest
For Alpin ratts, where they doe liue and ludge.
Thow maid the Moone, her course, as thou thoght best.
Thow maid the Sunne in tyme go to, that lest
He still sould shyne, then night sould neuer come.
But thow in ordour all things hes so drest,
Some beasts for day, for night are also some.

For Lyons young at night beginnis to raire,
And from their denns to craue of God some pray:
Then in the morning, gone is all their caire,
And homeward to their caues rinnis fast, fra day
Beginne to kythe, the Sunne dois so them fray.
Then man gois furth, fra tyme the Sunne dois ryse,
And whill the euening he remanis away
At lesume labour, where his liuing lyes.

How large and mightie are thy workis, ô Lord!
And with what wisedome are they wrought, but faile.
The earths great fulnes, of thy gifts recorde
Dois beare: Heir of the Seas (which dyuers skaile
Of fish contenis) dois witnes beare: Ilk saile
Of dyuers ships vpon the swolling wawes
Dois testifie, as dois the monstrous whaile,
Who frayis all fishes with his ravening Jawes.

All thir (ô Lord) yea all this woundrous heape
Of liuing things, in season craues their fill
Of foode from thee. Thow giuing, Lord, they reape:
Thy open hand with gude things fills them still
When so thow list: but contrar, when thow will
Withdraw thy face, then are they troubled sair,
Their breath by thee receavd, sone dois them kill:
Syne they returne into their ashes bair.

But notwithstanding, Father deare, in cace
Thow breath on them againe, then they reviue.
In short, thow dois, ô Lord, renewe the face
Of all the earth, and all that in it liue.
Therefore immortall praise to him we giue:
Let him reioyse into his works he maid,
Whose looke and touche, so hills and earth dois greiue,
As earth dois tremble, mountainis reikis, afraid.

To Jehoua I all my lyfe shall sing,
To sound his Name I euer still shall cair:
It shall be sweit my thinking on that King:
In him I shall be glaid for euer mair:
O let the wicked be into no whair
In earth. O let the sinfull be destroyde.
Blesse him my soule who name Iehoua bair:
O blesse him now with notts that are enioyde.

Hallelu-iah.

ANE SCHORT POEME OF TYME.

As I was pansing in a morning, aire,
And could not sleip, nor nawayis take me rest,
Furth for to walk, the morning was sa faire,
Athort the feilds, it semed to me the best.
The East was cleare, whereby belyue I gest
That fyrie Titan cumming was in sight,
Obscuring chast Diana by his light.

Who by his rysing in the Azure skyes,
Did dewlie helse all thame on earth do dwell.
The balmie dew through birning drouth he dryis,
VVhich made the soile to sauour sweit and smell,
By dewe that on the night before downe fell,
VVhich then was soukit vp by the Delphienns heit
Vp in the aire: it was so light and weit.

Whose hie ascending in his purpour Sphere
Prouoked all from Morpheus to flee;
As beasts to feid, and birds to sing with beir,
Men to their labour, bissie as the Bee:
Yet ydle men deuysing did I see,
How for to dryue the tyme that did them irk,
By sindrie pastymes, quhill that it grew mirk.

Then woundred I to see them seik a wyle,
So willinglie the precious tyme to tyne:
And how they did them selfis so farr begyle,
To fashe of tyme, which of it selfe is fyne.
Fra tyme be past, to call it bakwart syne
Is bot in vaine: therefore men sould be warr,
To sleuth the tyme that flees fra them so farr.

For what hath man bot tyme into this lyfe,
Which giues him dayis his God aright to knaw:
Wherefore then sould we be at sic a stryfe,
So spedelie our selfis for to withdraw
Euin from the tyme, which is on nowayes slaw
To flie from vs, suppose we fled it noght?
More wyse we were, if we the tyme had soght.

Bot sen that tyme is sic a precious thing,
I wald we sould bestow it into that
Which were most pleasour to our heauenly King.
Flee ydilteth, which is the greatest lat.
Bot sen that death to all is destinat,
Let vs imploy that tyme that God hath send vs,
In doing weill, that good men may commend vs.

Haec quoq; perficiat, quod perficit omnia, Tempus.

FINIS.

Sonnet of the Authour.

The facound Greke, Demosthenes by name,
His toung was ones into his youth so slow,
As evin that airt, which floorish made his fame,
He scarce could name it for a tyme, ze know.
So of small seidis the Liban Cedres grow:
So of an Egg the Egle doeth proceid:
From fountains small great Nilus flood doeth flow:
Evin so of rawnis do mightie fishes breid.
Therefore, good Reader, when as thow dois reid
These my first fruictis, dispyse them not at all.
Who watts, bot these may able be indeid
Of fyner Poemis the beginning small.
Then, rather loaue my meaning and my panis,
Then lak my dull ingyne and blunted branis.

FINIS.