Classic Poem

O Lord, since in my mouth thy mighty name
Suffer'th itself " my Lord" to name and call,
Here hath my heart hope taken by the same
That the repentance which I have, and shall,
May at thy hand seek mercy as the thing,
Only comfort of wretched sinners all;
Whereby I dare with umble bemoaning,
By thy goodness, of thee this thing require.
Chastise me not for my deserving
According to thy just conceived ire.
O Lord, I dread, and that I did not dread
I me repent, and evermore desire
Thee, thee to dread. I open here and spread
My fault to thee; but thou for thy goodness
Measure it not in largeness nor in bread;
Punish it not as asketh the greatness
Of thy furor provoked by my offence.
Temper, O Lord, the harm of my excess
With mending will that I for recompense
Prepare again; and rather pity me
For I am weak and clean without defence.
More is the need I have of remedy
For of the whole the leech taketh no cure.
The sheep that stray'th the shepherd seeks to see;
I, Lord, am strayed. I, sick without recure,
Feel all my limbs, that have rebelled, for fear
Shake — in despair unless thou me assure.
My flesh is troubled. My heart doth fear the spear —
That dread of death, of death that ever lasts,
Threateth of right, and draweth near and near!
Much more my soul is troubled by the blasts
Of these assaults (That come as thick as hail)
Of worldly vanities, that temptation casts
Against the weak bulwark of the flesh frail,
Wherein the soul in great perplexity
Feeleth the senses with them that assail
Conspire, corrupt by use and vanity;
Whereby the wretch doth to the shade resort
Of hope in thee in this extremity.
But thou, O Lord, how long after this sort
Forbearest thou to see my misery?
Suffer me yet, in hope of some comfort,
Fear and not feel that thou forgettest me.
Return, O Lord, O Lord I thee beseech,
Unto thine old wonted benignity.
Reduce, revive my soul; be thou the leech
And reconcile the great hatred and strife
That it hath ta'en against the flesh, the wretch
That stirred hath thy wrath by filthy life.
See how my soul doth fret it to the bones:
Inward remorse so sharp'th it like a knife
That, but thou help the caitiff that bemoans
His great offence, it turn'th anon to dust.
Here hath thy mercy matter for the nonce,
For if thy righteous hand that is so just
Suffer no sin or strike with damnation,
Thy infinite mercy want needs it must
Subject matter for his operation.
For that in death there is no memory
Among the damned, nor yet no mention
Of thy great name, ground of all glory,
Then if I die and go whereas I fear
To think thereon, how shall thy great mercy
Sound in my mouth unto the world's ear?
For there is none that can thee laud and love
For that thou nilt no love among them there.
Suffer my cries thy mercy for to move
That wonted is one hundred years' offence
In moment of repentance to remove.
How oft have I called up with diligence
This slothful flesh long afore the day,
For to confess his fault and negligence,
That to the down, for aught that I could say,
Hath still returned to shroud itself from cold,
Whereby it suffer'th now for such delay.
By nightly plaints instead of pleasures old
I wash my bed with tears continual
To dull my sight that it be never bold
To stir my heart again to such a fall.
Thus dry I up among my foes in woe
That with my fall do rise and grow withal
And me beset even now where I am, so
With secret traps to trouble my penance.
Some do present to my weeping eyes, lo,
The cheer, the manner, beauty, and countenance
Of her whose look, alas, did make me blind.
Some other offer to my remembrance
Those pleasant words now bitter to my mind.
And some shew me the power of my armour,
Triumph and conquest, and to my head assigned
Double diadem. Some shew the favour
Of people frail, palace, pomp, and riches.
To these mermaids and their baits of error
I stop mine ears with help of thy goodness.
And, for I feel it com'th alone of thee
That to my heart these foes have none access,
I dare them bid: " Avoid, wretches, and flee!
The Lord hath heard the voice of my complaint.
Your engines take no more effect in me.
The Lord hath heard, I say, and seen me faint
Under your hand and pity'th my distress.
He shall do make my senses by constraint
Obey the rule that reason shall express,
Where the deceit of your glosing bait
Made them usurp a power in all excess."
Shamed be they all, that so lie in wait
To compass me, by missing of their prey!
Shame and rebuke redound to such deceit!
Sudden confusion's stroke without delay
Shall so deface their crafty suggestion
That they to hurt my health no more assay,
Since I, O Lord, reamin in thy protection.