Henry Charles Beeching, ed. (1859–1919). Lyra Sacra: A Book of Religious Verse. 1903. Psalm CXXXIX By Mary Countess of Pembroke (1555?–1621)
O LORD, 1 in me there lieth nought But to Thy search revealed lies; For when I sit Thou markest it; No less Thou notest when I rise; 5 Yea, closest closet of my thought Hath open windows to Thine eyes. Thou walkest with me when I walk; When to my bed for rest I go, I find Thee there 10 And everywhere: Not youngest thought in me doth grow, No, not one word I cast to talk, But, yet unuttered, Thou dost know. If forth I march, Thou go’st before; 15 If back I turn, Thou com’st behind; So forth nor back Thy guard I lack. Nay, on me too Thy hand I find. Well I Thy wisdom may adore 20 But never reach with earthy mind. To shun Thy notice, leave Thine eye, O whither might I take my way? To starry sphere? Thy throne is there. 25 To dead men’s undelightsome stay? There is Thy walk, and there to lie Unknown in vain I should assay. O sun, whom light nor flight can match, Suppose thy lightful flightful wings 30 Thou lend to me And I could flee As far as Thee the evening brings: Ev’n led to west He would me catch, Nor should I lurk with western things. 35 Do thou thy best, O secret night, In sable veil to cover me: Thy sable veil Shall vainly fail; With day unmasked my night shall be; 40 For night is day, and darkness light, O Father of all lights, to Thee.
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