 | Alexander Pope: Minor poems |  |
69
PSALM XCI.
He who beneath thy shelt'ring wing resides,
Whom thy hand leads, and whom thy glory guides
To Heav'n familiar his bold vows shall send,
And fearless say to God—Thou art my friend!
'Tis Thou shalt save him from insidious wrongs,
And the sharp arrows of censorious tongues.
When gath'ring tempests swell the raging main,
When thunder roars, and lightning blasts the plain,
Amidst the wrack of nature undismay'd,
Safe shall he lye, and hope beneath thy shade.
By day no perils shall the just affright,
No dismal dreams or groaning ghosts by night.
His God shall guard him in the fighting field,
And o'er his breast extend his saving shield:
The whistling darts shall turn their points away,
And fires around him innocently play.
Thousands on ev'ry side shall yield their breath;
And twice ten thousand bite the ground in death;
While he, serene in thought, shall calm survey
The sinners fall, and bless the vengeful day!
Whom thy hand leads, and whom thy glory guides
To Heav'n familiar his bold vows shall send,
And fearless say to God—Thou art my friend!
'Tis Thou shalt save him from insidious wrongs,
And the sharp arrows of censorious tongues.
When gath'ring tempests swell the raging main,
When thunder roars, and lightning blasts the plain,
Amidst the wrack of nature undismay'd,
Safe shall he lye, and hope beneath thy shade.
By day no perils shall the just affright,
No dismal dreams or groaning ghosts by night.
His God shall guard him in the fighting field,
And o'er his breast extend his saving shield:
The whistling darts shall turn their points away,
And fires around him innocently play.
Thousands on ev'ry side shall yield their breath;
And twice ten thousand bite the ground in death;
While he, serene in thought, shall calm survey
The sinners fall, and bless the vengeful day!
Heav'n is thy hope: thy refuge fix'd above;
No harms can reach thee, and no force shall move.
I see protecting Myriads round thee fly,
And all the bright Militia of the sky.
These in thy dangers timely aid shall bring,
Raise in their arms, and waft thee on their wing,
These shall perform th'almighty orders given,
Direct each step, and smooth the path to Heaven.
Thou on the fiery Basilisk shalt tread,
And fearless crush the swelling Aspick's head,
Rouze the huge Dragon, with a spurn, from rest,
And fix thy foot upon the Lion's crest.
Lo I, his God! in all his toils am near:
I see him ever, and will ever hear:
When he the rage of sinners shall sustain,
I share his griefs, and feel my self his pain:
When foes conspiring rise against his rest,
I'll stretch my arm, and snatch him to my breast.
Him will I heap with honours, and with praise,
And glutt with full satiety of days;
Him with my glories crown; and when he dies,
To him reveal my joys, and open all my skies.
No harms can reach thee, and no force shall move.
I see protecting Myriads round thee fly,
And all the bright Militia of the sky.
These in thy dangers timely aid shall bring,
Raise in their arms, and waft thee on their wing,
These shall perform th'almighty orders given,
70
Thou on the fiery Basilisk shalt tread,
And fearless crush the swelling Aspick's head,
Rouze the huge Dragon, with a spurn, from rest,
And fix thy foot upon the Lion's crest.
Lo I, his God! in all his toils am near:
I see him ever, and will ever hear:
When he the rage of sinners shall sustain,
I share his griefs, and feel my self his pain:
When foes conspiring rise against his rest,
I'll stretch my arm, and snatch him to my breast.
Him will I heap with honours, and with praise,
And glutt with full satiety of days;
Him with my glories crown; and when he dies,
To him reveal my joys, and open all my skies.
| Alexander Pope: Minor poems | |