Verse > Anthologies > Edward Farr, comp. > Elizabethan Poetry
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Edward Farr, ed.  Select Poetry of the Reign of Queen Elizabeth.  1845.
 
Psalm CXLII
XLIV. Francis Davison
 
WITH sobbing voice, with drowned eies,
With ioyned hands raised to the skies,
With humble soule, and bended knee,
I crie, O Lord, I pray to thee.
 
As my dym eies a bryney showre        5
Of teares into my bosome powre,
So I into thy sacred eares
Poure out my heart, vnload my feares.
 
Though dangers, me besieging round,
My mazed senses quight confound,        10
Thou canst giue me a thrid, wherby
I from this labourinth may fly.
 
My harmeles feete can walke no way,
But priuy snares my foes fore-lay:
And looking round about for aid,        15
My frends to know me are afraid.
 
No humane succour now is left
To me, of help and hope bereft:
My life is sought by many a one,
But, ah! protected is by none.        20
 
To thee, O Lord, my cries I send,
My certaine hope, my surest frend;
I haue, in this false worlde’s wide scope,
None other helpe, none other hope.
 
Oh heare my cries; for faint I grow,        25
Opprest with endles waight of woe:
Me from my persecutors free,
Too great, too strong, for poore weake me.
 
Bring me from out this hell-black caue,
My prison, nay, my liuing graue;        30
Whose rocks and rocky-hearted foes
My flight on euery side enclose.
 
So shall my thankful mouth alwaies
Powre fourth a fountaine of thy praise;
And this thine aid shall teach the just        35
On thee, their rock, to build their trust.
 
 
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