by Fulke Greville


SYON lyes waste, and Thy Ierusalem,
O Lord, is falne to vtter desolation;
Against Thy Prophets, and Thy holy men,
The sinne hath wrought a fatal combination;
     Prophan'd Thy name, Thy worship ouerthrowne,
     And made Thee liuing Lord, a God vnknowne.

Thy powerfull lawes, Thy wonders of creation,
Thy word incarnate, glorious heauen, darke hell,
Lye shadowed vnder man's degeneration;
Thy Christ still crucifi'd for doing well;
     Impiety, O Lord, sits on Thy throne,
     Which makes Thee liuing Lord, A God vnknowne.

Man's superstition hath Thy truth entomb'd,
His atheisme againe her pomps defaceth;
That sensuall vnsatiable vaste wombe,
Of Thy seene Church, Thy vnseene Church disgraceth;
     There liues no truth with them that seeme Thine own,
     Which makes Thee liuing Lord, a God vnknowne.

Yet vnto Thee Lord — mirrour of transgression —
Wee who for earthly idols haue forsaken,
Thy heauenly image — sinlesse, pure impression —
And so in nets of vanity lye taken,
     All desolate implore that to Thine owne,
     Lord, Thou no longer liue a God vnknowne.

Yet Lord let Israel's plagues not be eternall,
Nor sinne for euer cloud Thy sacred mountaines,
Nor with false flames spirituall but infernall,
Dry up Thy Mercie's euer springing fountaines :
     Rather, sweet Iesus, fill vp time and come,
     To yeeld the sinne her euerlasting doome.


Greville, Fulke. The Works in Verse and Prose Complete.
          Vol III.  Rev. Alexander B. Grosart, ed.
          London: Private [Tiplady and son], 1870.  142-143.

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