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Edward Farr, ed. Select Poetry of the Reign of Queen Elizabeth. 1845.

Psalm CXV

XV. John Hall, M.D.

Non nobis, Domine.

NOT unto us, Lord, not to us,

But to thy holy name alwayse,

For thy mercy and truthe done thus,

Ascribed be all laude and prayse.

These heathen folke that faythles be,

Why should they saye to us in spighte,

Where is their God, let us hym see,

In whom these Christians haue delyghte?

For their false gods, their chiefe and best,

Are nothing but syluer and goulde:

The handes of men, both most and lest,

Haue forged them out of the moulde.

Yet haue they for their idols made

Mouthes wherewith they can speak nothing,

And eyes also whereof the trade

Is to be blynde from all seyng.

Suche eares also in them are wrought,

And heare nothing that one can tell;

And noses whiche are likewyse nought,

For they with them can nothyng smell.

Vayne handes haue they, and fete also;

For with their handes they handle not,

Nor with their fete they can not goe,

Nor sounde no voice out of their throte.

Wherefore suche as doe idols make,

Doe their own works resemble just;

And they also that doe them take

For gods, or haue them in their truste.

Let Israell, then, in the Lorde

Set all their truste and confidence;

And Aaron’s house thereto accorde;

For he is their most sure defence.

All ye that feare the Lorde aright,

Trust in hym well, be not afrayde;

For he will surely shewe his myght

To succoure you and be your ayde.

The Lord will not forget doubtless,

But haue us in his mynde full well:

The righteous houses he wyll bles

Of Aaron and of Israell.

Ye that do feare the Lorde therefore

Are blessed, both the great and small:

The Lorde increase you more and more,

Both you and eke your children all.

For sithe ye are his chosen sorte,

And haue the Lorde whole in your thought,

He wyll you blesse with greate comforte,

Both heauen and earth that made of nought.

The heauens and the firmament

Are his, and at his holy wyll;

But the rounde earth he hath forth lente

The sonnes of mortal men untyll.

The dead, O Lorde, that are gone hence,

Cannot in graue express thy wayes;

Nor such as downe are in sylence

Can honor thee or giue thee prayse.

But we, O Lorde, that be alyve,

Thy prayse wyll spreade and ramifye,

And in our hearts due thankes contryve

Unto thy name eternally.