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The Works in Verse and Prose

(including hitherto unpublished Mss.) of Sir John Davies: for the first time collected and edited: With memorial-introductions and notes: By the Rev. Alexander B. Grosart. In three volumes

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426

PSALM XLIV.

Lord! of Thy workes, our fathers haue vs tould,
Some in their dayes, and former times of ould;
How Thou hast rooted out the Pagan race,
And Thy choice people planted in their place:
Who did not with their owne sword winne the Land,
Nor make the conquest with their proper hand;
But by Thine Arme, Thy fauour and Thy grace,
Thy countenance and brightness of Thy face,
Thou art my Kinge, O God, and royall Guide,
And Thou for Jacob's safety dost prouide.
Wee through Thine aid our foes doe bouldly meet
And by Thy vertue cast them at our feet;
Therefore my trust I place not in my bowe,
Nor in my sword, to saue mee from my foe.
Thou only sau'st vs from our enimies,
Confoundinge them that doe against vs rise.
Wee boast and glory in our strength therefore,
And to Thy name singe praises euermore;
But now Thou standest of[f] and leau'st vs quite,
And dost not lead our armies out to fight;
Thou mak'st vs fly before our foes with feare,

427

While they from vs rich spoyles away doe beare;
Like sheepe, to feed them Thy poore flock is giuen,
Or scatterèd into seuerall Nations driuen.
Thyne owne deare people Thou dost sell for naught,
And setts on them noe price when they are bought;
Thou hast vs made vnto our Neighbours all,
An object of reproch and scorne withall:
To Nations which doe worship Idolls dumbe
Wee are a byword of contempt become;
All the day long my shame is in my sight,
Which makes mee hide my face and shun the light,
Not able to endure the blasphemies
And scornes of my reuengefull enimies.
For all these ills wee doe not Thee forgett,
Thy blessed Couenant wee renounce not yet.
Our hearts recede not from the Lawe deuine,
Nor doe our footsteps from Thy pathes declyne,
Though wee in dennes of dragons haue bene plac't,
And with death's fearefull shadowes ouercast.
If wee the name of our true God forgett,
And Idolls false wee in His place doe sett,
Shall not Hee search [it] out, Whose eye doth see
The heart of man whose thoughts most trubled bee?

428

But for Thy cause Lord wee are martir'd still,
Like sheep which slaughter-men cull out to kill.
Up Lord! why dost Thou seeme to slumber thus?
Awake and bee not alwayes farr from vs:
Why hidest Thou from vs Thy blessed face,
Forgettinge our distresse and wretched case?
Our soules euen to the dust are humbled lowe,
Our prostrate bodies to the ground doe growe.
Arise and helpe vs Lord! defend vs still,
And saue vs for Thy mercie's sake from ill.