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[The Courte of Vertu

contaynynge many holy songes, Sonettes, psalmes and ballettes] [by John Hall]

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Oseas .xiiii.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Oseas .xiiii.

O Lord our God we turne to the,
thy word we doe embrace:
Forgeue vs our iniquitie
receyue vs vnto grace.
To offer then in Godly wyse
Shall be our whole intent:

[69]

Our lyps the lyvly sacrifice
Of prayse shall the present.
To man for helpe and fortitude
We wyll not seke therfore,
And strength of horse we wyll conclude
To trust in them no more.
The workes eke that our handes dyd make
That vayn are & must fall,
We doe determine to forsake
No more on them to call.
For it is thou that art our God
And euer shalt remayne:
For mercy at thy fatherhod
The fatherles attayne.
O that they would haue this remorse
(Sayth God) and them conuert:
I would them heale of all their sores,
And loue them with mine hearte.
My wrath I would from thē decline,
To them that I may be
As dew doth make the lylye shyne,
So beutifull to se.
Their roote lyke vnto Libanus
Shall breake out of the ground,
And as the olyfe bewtious
Their branches shall abound.

70

As Libanus so excellent
Theyr swetnes shall excell:
Wherof (as all men doe assent)
Ryght plesant is the smell.
For as the corne vnder that tree
Doth floryshe well and growe:
So are they shadowed by me
From hurte and ouerthrowe.
And as the growyng of the vyne,
So shall they spryng in dede:
Of Libanus as doth the wyne,
So shall their name excede.
Propose I wyll this thee vnto
O Ephraim therfore:
From henceforth what haue I to doe
With Idols any more?
I wyll thee heare and geue thee grace
And leade thee forth aryght:
And I wyll be to thee lyke as
The grene fyrre tree in syghte.
On me set thy foundation,
Whiche am to the so kynde:
Thy lyvly frutes then evry one
Upon me shalt thou fynde.
This vnderstand the godly wyse
That repe for this rewarde:
The ryght instruct wyll exercyse
The same with good regarde.

[70]

The lorde his wayes be iust and ryght
The godly walke the same:
The wycked folke doe stumble quyte.
And fall out of the frame.