And now, though late, the modest rose H. W. XIII. A TRANSLATION OF THE CIV. PSALM TO THE ORIGINAL SENSE.1 Y soul, exalt the Lord with hymns of praise : M O Lord, my God, how boundless is Whose Throne of State is clothed with glorious rays, And round about hast robed Thyself with light; Who like a curtain hast the heavens displayed, And in the watery roofs Thy chambers laid: Whose chariots are the thickened clouds above; Who walk'st upon the winged winds below; At whose command the airy spirits move, And fiery meteors their obedience show; Who on his base the earth did'st firmly found, And mad'st the deep to circumvest it round. The waves that rise would drown the highest hill, But at Thy check they fly, and when they hear Thy thundering voice, they post to do Thy Will, And bound their furies in their proper sphere, 1 "Rel. Wotton." Where surging floods and valing ebbs can tell, That none beyond Thy marks must sink or swell. Who hath disposed, but Thou, the winding way, Where springs down from the steepy crags do beat, At which both fostered beasts their thirsts allay, The mounts are watered from Thy dwelling-place; Nor shrubs alone feel Thy sufficing hand, So have the fowls their sundry seats to breed ; The mining conies shroud in rocky cells: Thou mak'st the night to overveil the day: O Lord! when on Thy various works we look, Where, in the fair contents of Nature's book, There go the ships that furrow out their way; Yea, there of whales enormous sights we see, Which yet have scope among the rest to play, And all do wait for their support on Thee; Who hast assigned each thing his proper food, And in due season dost dispense Thy good. They gather when Thy gifts Thou dost divide; Their stores abound, if Thou Thy hand enlarge, Confused they are when Thou Thy beams dost hide; In dust resolved if Thou their breath discharge; Again, when Thou of life renew'st the seeds, The withered fields revest their cheerful weeds. Be ever gloried here Thy sovereign name, That Thou may'st smile on all which Thou hast made; Whose frown alone can shake this earthly frame, And at whose touch the hills in smoke shall vade! For me, may, while I breathe, both harp and voice In sweet indictment of Thy hymns rejoice! Let sinners fail, let all profaneness cease:— XIV. A HYMN TO MY GOD, IN A NIGHT OF MY LATE SICKNESS. (1638 or 1639.) H Thou great power! in whom I move, And cleanse my sordid soul within No hallowed oils, no grains I need, Was worlds of seas to quench Thine ire. And said by Him that said no more, But sealed it with His sacred breath: "Rel. Wotton." among the letters. H. WOTTON. There are copies in MS. Tann. 465, p. 137; MS. Rawl. Poet. 147, p. 101; MS. Ashm. 38, No. 172, &c.; and in Clark's "Aurea Legenda," 1682, p. 141. XV. TO THE RARELY ACCOMPLISHED, AND WORTHY OF BEST EMPLOYMENT, MASTER HOWELL, ELIEVE it, Sir, you happily have hit Methinks breathes Barclay, or a Boccaline. With others, their own dialects expose, But you have taught them all rich English prose. I end and envy; but must justly say, Who makes trees speak so well, deserves the bay. HENRY WOTTON. XVI. A DESCRIPTION OF THE COUNTRY'S RECREATIONS.2 (Author uncertain.) UIVERING fears, heart-tearing cares, Fly, fly to courts! Fly to fond worldlings' sports, No 1 Prefixed to Howell's "Dodona's Grove," 1640. doubt the book was submitted in MS. to Wotton, who died in 1639. 2 "Rel. Wotton." signed as below. Also in Walton's |