Divine poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Great God, before whose all-discerning eye,
The secret corners of mans heart doe lye
As open as his actions, which no Clowd
Of secresie can shade; no shade can shrowd;
Behold the Teares, O, hearken to the Cryes
Of thy poore Sion; Wipe her weeping eyes,
Binde up her bleeding wounds, ô thou that art
The best Chirurgeon for a broken heart:
See how the barb'rous Gentiles have intruded
Into the Land of promise, and excluded
Those rightfull Owners, from their just possessions,
That wander now full laden with oppressions;
Our Fathers (ah) their savage hands have slaine,
Whose deaths our Widdow-mothers weepe in vaine;
Our Springs, whose Christall plenty once disburst
Their bounteous favours, to quench every thirst;
Our liberall Woods, whose palsie-shaken tops,
To every stranger, bow'd their yeelding lops,
Are sold to us, that have no price to pay,
But sweat and toyle, the sorrowes of the day:
Oppressors trample on our servile necks,
We never cease to groane, nor they to vexe;
Famine and Dearth, haue taught our hands t'extend
To Ashur, and our feeble knees to bend
To churlish Pharoe: Want of bread compells
Thy servants to begge Almes of Infidels;
Our wretched Fathers sinn'd, and yet they sleepe
In peace, and have left us their sonnes to weepe;

484

We, we extracted from their sinfull loynes,
Are guilty of their sinnes; Their Ossa joynes
To our high Pelion; Ah! their crimes doe stand
More firmly' entailed to us, than our Land:
We are the slaves of servants, and the scorne
Of slaves, of all forsaken, and forlorne;
Hunger hath forc'd us to acquire our food,
With deepest danger of our dearest blood;
Our skins are wrinckled, and the fruitlesse ploughs
Of want have fallow'd up our barren browes:
Within that Sion which thy hands did build,
Our Wives were ravisht, and our Maids defil'd:
Our savage Foe extends his barb'rous rage
To all, not sparing Sexe, nor Youth, nor Age:
They hang our Princes on the shamefull trees
Of death; respect no Persons, no Degrees:
Our Elders are despised, whose gray hayres
Are but the Index of their doting yeares;
Our flowring youth are forced to fulfill
Their painfull taskes in the laborious Mill;
Our children faint beneath their loads, and cry,
Opprest with burdens, under which they lie:
Sages are banisht fom Iudiciall Courts,
And youth takes no delight in youthfull sports:
Our joyes are gone, and promise no returning,
Our pleasure's turnd to paine, our mirth to mourning;
Our hand hath lost her sword; Our Head his Crowne;
Our Church her glory; our Weale her high renowne.
Lord, we have sinn'd, and these our sins have brought
This world of griefe; (O purchase dearely bought!)
From hence our sorrowes, and from hence our feares
Proceed; for this, our eyes are blinde with teares;
But that (aye that) which my poore heart doth count
Her sharpest torture, is thy sacred Mount,

485

Sacred Mount Sion; Sion, that divine
Seat of thy glory's raz'd; her tender Vine,
Laden with swelling Clusters, is destroy'd,
And Foxes now, what once thy Lambs enjoy'd.
But thou (O thou eternall God) whose Throne
Is permanent, whose glory's ever one,
Vnapt for Change, abiding still the same,
Though Earth consume, & Heaven dissolve her frame,
Why dost thou (ah!) why dost thou thus absent
Thy glorious face? Oh, wherefore hast thou rent
Thy Mercy from us? O! when wilt thou be
Atton'd to them, that have no trust but Thee.
Restore us (Lord) and let our soules possesse
Our wonted peace; O, let thy Hand redresse
Our wasted fortunes; Let thine Eye behold
Thy scattered Flock, and drive them to their Fold;
Canst thou reject that people, which thy Hand
Hath chose, and planted in the promis'd Land?
O thou (the Spring of mercy) wilt thou send
No case to our Afflictions, no end?