VI. Sir Philip Sidney and the Countess of Pembroke

Benedixisti, Domine.

MIGHTY Lord, from this thy land

Never was thy love estrang’d:

Jacob’s servitude thy hand

Hath, we know, to freedome chang’d.

All thy people’s wicked parts

Have byn banisht from thy sight:

Thou on them hast cured quite

All the woundes of synnfull dartes;

Still thy choller quenching soe,

Heate to flame did never grow.

Now then, God, as heretofore,

God, the God that dost us save,

Change our state; in us no more

Lett thine anger object have.

Wilt thou thus for ever grieve?

Wilt thou of thy wrathfull rage

Draw the threed from age to age?

Never us againe relieve?

Lord, yet once our hartes to joy

Show thy grace, thy help employ.

What speake I? O lett me heare

What he speakes: for speake hee will

Peace to whome he love doth beare,

Lest they fall to folly still.

Ever nigh to such as stand

In his feare, his favour is:

How can then his glory misse

Shortly to enlight our land?

Mercy now and truth shall meete:

Peace with kisse shall justice greete.

Truth shall spring in ev’ry place,

As the hearb, the earthe’s attire:

Justice’s long absent face

Heav’n shall show, and earth admire.

Then Jehova on us will

Good on good in plenty throw:

Then shall we in gladdnes mow,

Wheras now in grief we till:

Then before him in his way

All goe right; not one shall stray.