I AM the man which have affliction seene,
    Under the rod of Gods wrath having beene,
He hath led mee to darknesse, not to light,
    And against mee all day, his hand doth fight.

Hee hath broke my bones, worne out my flesh and skinne,
    Built up against mee; and hath girt mee in
With hemlocke, and with labour; and set mee
    In darke, as they who dead for ever bee.

Hee hath hedg'd me lest I scape, and added more
    To my steele fetters, heavier than before.
When I crie out, he out shuts my prayer: And hath
    Stop'd with hewn stone my way, and turn'd my path.

And like a Lionhid in secrecie,
    Or Beare which lyes in wait, he was to mee.
He stops my way, teares me, made desolate,
    And hee makes mee the marke he shooteth at.

Hee made the children of his quiver passe
    Into my reines, I with my people was
All the day long, a song and mockery.
    Hee hath fill'd mee with bitternesse, and he

Hath made me drunke with wormewood. He hath burst
    My teeth with stones, and covered mee with dust;
And thus my Soule farre off from peace was set,
    And my prosperity I did forget.

My strength, my hope (unto my selfe I said)
    Which from the Lord should come, is perished.
But when my mournings I do thinke upon,
    My wormwood, hemlocke, and affliction,

My Soule is humbled in remembring this;
    My heart considers, therefore, hope there is.
'Tis Gods great mercy we'are not utterly
    Consum'd, for his compassions do not die;

For every morning they renewed bee,
    For great, O Lord, is thy fidelity.
The Lord is, saith my Soule, my portion,
    And therefore in him will I hope alone.

The Lord is good to them, who on him relie,
    And to the Soule that seeks him earnestly.
It is both good to trust, and to attend
    (The Lords salvation) unto the end:

'Tis good for one his yoake in youth to beare;
    He sits alone, and doth all speech forbearer
Because he hath borne it. And his mouth he layes
    Deepe in the dust, yet then in hope he stayes.

He gives his cheekes to whosoever will
    Strike him, and so he is reproched still.
For, not for ever doth the Lord forsake,
    But when he'hath strucke with sadnes, hee doth take

Compassion, as his mercy'is infinite;
    Nor is it with his heart, that he doth smite;
That underfoot the prisoners stamped bee,
    That a mans right the judge himselfe doth see

To be wrung from him, That he subverted is
    In his just cause; the Lord allowes not this.
Who then will say, that ought doth come to passe,
    But that which by the Lord commanded was?

Both good and evill from his mouth proceeds;
    Why then grieves any man for his misdeeds?
Turne wee to God, by trying out our wayes;
    To him in heaven, our hands with hearts upraise.

Wee have rebell'd, and falne away from thee,
    Thou pardon'st not; Usest no clemencie;
Pursuest us, kill'st us, coverest us with wrath,
    Cover'st thy selfe with clouds, that our prayer hath

No power to passe. And thou hast made us fall
    As refuse, and off-scouring to them all.
All our foes gape at us. Feare and a snare
    With ruine, and with waste, upon us are.

With watry rivers doth mine eye oreflow
    For ruine of my peoples daughter so;
Mine eye doth drop downe teares incessantly,
    Untill the Lord looke downe from heaven to see.

And for my citys daughters sake, mine eye
    Doth breake mine heart. Causles mine enemy,
Like a bird chac'd me. In a dungeon
    They have shut my life, and cast on me a stone.

Waters flow'd o'r my head, then thought I, I am
    Destroy'd; I called Lord, upon thy name
Out of the pit. And thou my voice didst heare;
    Oh from my sigh, and crye, stop not thine eare.

Then when I call'd upon thee, thou drew'st nere
    Unto mee, and said'st unto mee, do you feare.
Thou Lord my Soules cause handled hast, and thou
    Rescud'st my life. O Lord do thou judge now,

Thou heardst my wrong. Their vengeance all they have wrought;
    How they reproached, thou hast heard, and what they thought,
What their lips uttered, which against me rose,
    And what was ever whisper'd by my foes.

I am their song, whether they rise or sit,
    Give them rewards Lord, for their working fit,
Sorrow of heart, thy curse. And with thy might
    Follow, and from under heaven destroy them quite.


Back

Forward

Log in or registerto write something here or to contact authors.