Classic Poem

PSALM VIII

Domine, Dominus noster.

1.

O lord, that rul'st our mortall lyne,
How through the world Thy name doth shine;
That hast of Thy unmatched glory
Vpon the heavns engrav'd Thy story.

2.

From sucklings hath Thy honour sproong,
Thy force hath flow'd from infant's tongue,
Whereby Thou stop'st Thyne enemy's prating,
Bent to revenge and ever hating.

3.

When I vpon the heavns do look,
Which all from Thee their essence took;
When moone and starrs my thought beholdeth,
Whose light no light but of Thee holdeth:

4.

Then think I, — ah, what is this man,
Whom that great God remember can?
And what the race of him descended,
It should be ought of God attended.

5.

For though in lesse than angel's state
Thou planted hast this earthly mate,
Yet hast Thou made even him an owner
Of glorious croune and crouning honour.

6.

Thou placest him vpon all lands
To rule the works of Thyne own hands;
And so Thou hast all things ordained,
That even his feet haue on them raigned.

7.

Thou under his dominion plac't
Both sheep and oxen wholy hast,
And all the beasts for ever breeding,
Which in the fertile fields be feeding.

8.

The bird, free burgess of the ayre,
The fish of seas the natiue heire,
And what thing els of waters traceth
The unworn paths, his rule embraceth.
O Lord, that rulest our mortall lyne,
How through the world Thy name doth shine!