By Sir Philip Sidney


Domine, Deus meus.

I. O LORD, my God, Thou art my trustfull stay;
         O saue me from this persecution's showre,
    Deliver me in my endangerd way.

2. Least lion like he do my soule devoure,
         And cruely in many peies teare,
    While I am voyd of any helping power.

3. O Lord, my God, if I did not forbeare
         Ever from deed of any such desart;
    If ought my hands of wyckednes do beare;

4. If I have been unkynd for friendly part;
         Nay, if I wrought not for his freedome's sake,
    Who causeless now yeeldes me a hatefull heart,—

5. Then let my foe chase me, and chasing take,
         Then let his foot vpon my neck be set,
    Then in the dust let him my honour rake.

6. Arise, O Lord, in wrath Thy self vp sett
         Against such rage of foes; awake for me
    To that high doome which I by Thee must get.

7. So shall all men with laudes inviron Thee;
         Therfore, O Lord, lift vp Thy self on high,
    That evry folk Thy wondrous acts may see.

8. Thou, Lord, the people shalt in judgment try;
         Then, Lord, my Lord, giue sentence on my side,
    After my clearness and my equity.

9. O, let their wickedness no longer bide
         From coming to theire well-deservèd end;
    But still be Thou to just men justest guide.

10. Thou righteous proofes to hearts and reines dost send,
         All, all my help from none but Thee is sent,
      Who dost Thy saving-health to true men bend.

11. Thou righteous art, Thou strong, Thou patient,
         Yet each day art provoakt Thyne ire to show:
      For this same man will not learn to repent.

12. Therfore Thou whet'st Thy sword and bend'st Thy bow,
         And hast Thy deadly armes in order brought,
      And ready art to let Thyne arrowes go.

13. Lo, he that first conceiv'd a wretched thought,
         And great with child of mischeif travaild long,
      Now brought a-bed, hath brought nought out but nought.

14. A pitt was digg'd by this man vainly strong;
         But in the pitt he ruind first did fall,
      Which fall he made to do his neighbor wrong.

15. He against me doth throw; but down it shall
         Vpon his pate, his pain employèd thus,
      And his own evill his own head shall appall.

16. I will giue thanks unto the Lord of vs,
         According to His heavnly equity,
      And will to highest name yeild prayses high.

Text source:
      Sidney, Philip. The Complete Poems of Sir Philip Sidney. vol. III.
      Alexander B. Grosart, Ed. London: Chatto & Windus, 1877. 92-5.

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