Songs of Sion Set for the ioy of gods deere ones, vvho sitt here by the brookes of this vvorlds Babel, & vveepe vvhen they thinke on Hierusalem vvhich is on highe. By W. L. [i.e. William Loe] |
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 | Songs of Sion |  |
A Metaphrase .
OF THE THIRD Chapter of Ieremies Lamentations for the sacking, & burning of Ierusalem, and the temple, by Nebuchadnezer king of Babell, and by Nebuzaradan the captaine of his gard, put into monosyllables of great Brittains language.
To his much esteemed good frend Mr. IOHN GREENWELL on
of the Assistants of the most vvorthy companie of marchants-Adventurers
residing at Hamb: All ioy, & happines in Christ.
The first depth.
1
I am the man o lordHaue felt thy vvrath, thy rod
O send me helpe in this my vvoe
My lord, my Christ, my god.
2
Thy stormes, & clouds of ireDoe beate me day, & night
Thou shevvst me vvoe, & vvast, & warre
And hidst from me the light.
3
All the day long o lordThine hand is turnd gainst me
Noe helpe, noe hope, noe ioy, noe mirth
That I poore vvretch can see.
5
My flesh, & skin are vile,And parcht as in a drought,
My bones, my hart are broke in tvvayne
This lord thy vvrath hath vvrought
6
O lord thou makst a fortWith me to vvarre, & fight
With gall; & greefe thou dost me fill
And none vvill doe me right.
7
As they that long are dead,And cleane cast out of mind
So am I sett in night of death
With vvoe, & greefe all pind!
The second depth.
1
An hedge is pight me roundTo close me in this vvoe
I can not stirre thy chaines me bind
O lord vvhat shall I doe?
2
And vvhen I cry, & roareIn all my greefe, & gall
He shutts me out, & vvill not heare
Ne cares he for my call.
3
He ramzes me in so fast.With stones, & clay full thicke
My pathes he crokes, & giues noe ease
My soule is faint, & sicke.
4
As beares doe teare their pray,And vvaite more bloud to spill
So hath my foes me rent, & torne
As if it vvere thy vvill.
6
I peece, by peece am hald,And puld by hand to raggs
I by my selfe do sitt, & vveepe,
While my foe sitts, & braggs.
7
Thy bovve o lord is bent,To shoote at my pale face
I am a marke for shafts to hitt
O yett shevve me some grace.
The third depth.
1
For see the shafts doe stickeIn all my raynes through out
I am the butt, & none but I
At vvhich shootes all the rout.
2
My foes make me their iestAnd song by night, & day
Where is thy god, thy lord, thy helpe
Thus they to me doe say.
3
Mine hart is fraught vvith gall,My bloud is drunke vp still
With shame, & greefe I vvaile, & vvast
Make hast me lord to kill
4
My strength is dasht, my teethAre broke vvith in my head
Thou laist on loade on me poore soule
I vvish I vvere cleane dead.
5
My soule doth not once heareOf peace, of grace, of light
I cannot call to mind my state
That once I had in sight.
6
O lord my strength, my hope,My helpe I looke from thee.
But all is gone, & there is none
That cares, nor lookes to me.
The fourth depth.
1
O call to mind svveet godThis moane, this woe of mine
This gall, this greefe, this plaint, this cry
For I o lord am thine
2
My soule is faint, & failesWhen I to mind doe call
My greefe hath made me cry, and roare
To see my vvoe, & fall.
3
Yet haue I hope in theeThat thou vvilt helpe at last,
& vvilt not quite my soule for aye
From thy svveet sight out cast.
4
It is thy loue o lordThat I am not quite sold,
And rid from earth, both braunch & roote
And closd vp in the mold.
5
Thou failst me not in morne,All night I feele thy stay,
Thy hand is great, & in thy truth
Thou hearst vvhat I doe say.
6
For thou o lord art mineMy soule doth hope in thee
Thou art my lot, my land, my rent
Once more lord sett me free
The fift depth.
1
O thou art good o lordTo them that vvayte, & tend
To soules that seeke, & sue to thee
Thou dost thy grace dovvne send
2
It is right good o lordTo hope for helpe from thee
For of thee lord is all mans good
O shevve thy smile to me.
3
It is full good for manIn youth to beare thy rod
For he shall learne there by to knovve
The lord to be his god.
4
Then sitts he pale, & vvan,And mute vvith out a peeare
He will take heede all tymes that he
Doe searue the lord in feare
5
And if he see theres hopeHis mouth from dust vvill cry,
And to the lord make plaint, & moane
To day that he doth dye.
6
He giues his cheeke to suchAs smite him, & doe taunt
He vvil not giue his eare to those
That vaine & vile things chaunt.
The sixt depth.
1
The lord doth not for ayeCast of his choice of men
But though they greeue yet in his tyme.
He takes them from that den.
2
For by his vvill the lordGreeues not his flocke at all
Nor doth he crush the sonnes of mē
When they on him doe call.
3
He rights men in their ill.The face of the most high
Is sett to helpe the flocke of Christ
Yea he vvill dravve them nigh.
4
Out of gods ovvne svveet mouthComes forth not good, & ill
When vve are plagud it is our sinne
That doth our deare soules kill.
5
Let vs then search our vvaies,And turne to our good god
So shall he quite put farre from vs
His scourge, his plague, his rod.
6
Lift vp both hand, & hartTo him that dvvells on highe
And shevve our sinns, our shame to him
Least that for them vve dye.
The seuenth depth.
1
Thou hast vs slayne o lordAnd hidst vs vvith a cloud
O that our sute comes not to thee
Though vve doe cry full loud
2
We are as drosse, and doung,Our foes doe on vs rage
[illeg.] feare, & snare is come on vs,
And that from age, to age.
3
Mine eies cease not to vveepeBut day, by daye vve moane
Till thou o lord dost looke from high,
& ease vs of our grone.
4
My eies, and hart doe ake,The one vvith teares doth runne
My hart it sobbs, & sighes full sore
For that vvhich I haue done.
5
Men chase me like a bird,They haue cut of my life
They cast great stones to keepe me dovvne
They kill me in their strife.
6
Yet from these depths o lordI haue cald on thy name
Thou to my voice vvilt giue an ear
And ease me of the same.
The eigth depth.
1
Thou vvontst to say, Feare not,Thou vvontst my cause to plead
And to the streames of loue, & life
Thou vvast vvont me to lead.
2
O lord my vvronge thou seestJudge thou my cause vvith those.
That gape, & hope to eate me vp
With rage they doe me close
3
Thou lord hast hard their criesHovve they doe rage, & roare
Hovve they doe spite, & spitt at me
And raue still more, & more.
4
They make their songs on meThey iest, & gibe, & mocke
When they sitt dovvne, or rise, or walke
They flout, they feare thy flocke.
5
Giue them their lott o lord,Looke on the vvorke they vvrought
Giue them thy curse vvith greefe of hart
That haue my vvoe thus sought
6
Cast them all cleane from theeLet not the earth them beare
For that they doe not seeke to thee
But rage vvith out all feare.
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