Poems, &c. upon several occasions both English and Latin, &c. / composed at several times by Mr. John Milton ; with a small tractate of education to Mr. Hartlib.

PSAL. LXXXVIII.

LOrd God that dost me save and keep,Line 1 All day to thee I cry; And all night long, before thee weep Before thee prostrate lie. Line 2

Into thy presence let my praierLine 2 With sighs devout ascend And to my cries, that ceaseless are, Thine ear with favour bend. For cloy'd with woes and trouble storeLine 3 Surcharg'd my Soul doth lie, My life at deaths uncherful dore Unto the grave draws nigh. Reck'n'd I am with them that passLine 4 Down to the dismal pit I am a man, but weak alas And for that name unfit. From life discharg'd and parted quiteLine 5 Among the dead to sleep, And like the slain in bloody fight That in the grave lie deep. Whom thou rememberest no more, Dost never more regard, Them from thy hand deliver'd o're Deaths hideous house hath barr'd. Thou in the lowest pit profoundLine 6 Hast set me all forlorn, Where thickest darkness hovers round, In horrid deeps to mourn. Line 7

Thy wrath from which no shelter savesLine 7 Full sore doth press on me; Thou break'st upon me all thy waves, * And all thy waves break me. Thou dost my friends from me estrange,Line 8 And mak'st me odious, Me to them odious, for they change, And I here pent up thus. Through sorrow, and affliction greatLine 9 Mine eye grows dim and dead, Lord all the day I thee entreat, My hands to thee I spread. Wilt thou do wonders on the dead,Line 10 Shall the deceas'd arise And praise thee from their loathsom bed With pale and hollow eyes? Shall they thy loving kindness tellLine 11 On whom the grave hath hold, Or they who in perdition dwell Thy faithfulness unfold? In darkness can thy mighty handLine 12 Or wondrous acts be known, Thy justice in the gloomy land Of dark oblivion? Line 13

But I to thee O Lord do cryLine 13 E're yet my life be spent, And up to thee my praier doth hie Each morn, and thee prevent. Why wilt thou Lord my soul forsake,Line 14 And hide thy face from me, That am already bruis'd, and † shakeLine 15 With terror sent from thee; Bruz'd, and afflicted and so low As ready to expire, While I thy terrors undergo Astonish'd with thine ire. Thy fierce wrath over me doth flowLine 16 Thy threatnings cut me through. All day they round about me go,Line 17 Like waves they me persue. Lover and friend thou hast remov'dLine 18 And fever'd from me far. They fly me now whom I have lov'd, And as in darkness are.

Notes

• Heb. A man without manly strength,
• The Hebr. bears both.
• †

  Heb. Prae Concussione.