England's Antiphon Part 15

Who that tyrant sin obey, Though they spring like flowers in May-- Parched with heat, and nipt with frost, Soon shall fade, for ever lost.

Lord, thou art most great, most high; Such from all eternity.

Perish shall thy enemies, Rebels that against thee rise.

All who in their sins delight, Shall be scattered by thy might But thou shall exalt my horn Like a youthful unicorn, Fresh and fragrant odours shed On thy crowned prophet's head.

I shall see my foes' defeat, Shortly hear of their retreat; But the just like palms shall flourish Which the plains of Judah nourish, Like tall cedars mounted on Cloud-ascending Lebanon.

Plants set in thy court, below Spread their roots, and upwards grow; Fruit in their old age shall bring, Ever fat and flourishing.

This G.o.d's justice celebrates: He, my rock, injustice hates.

PSALM CXXIII.

Thou mover of the rolling spheres, I, through the gla.s.ses of my tears, To thee my eyes erect.

As servants mark their master's hands, As maids their mistress's commands, And liberty expect,

So we, depressed by enemies And growing troubles, fix our eyes On G.o.d, who sits on high; Till he in mercy shall descend, To give our miseries an end, And turn our tears to joy.

O save us, Lord, by all forlorn, The subject of contempt and scorn: Defend us from their pride Who live in fluency and ease, Who with our woes their malice please, And miseries deride.

Here is a part of the 66th Psalm, which makes a complete little song of itself:

Bless the Lord. His praise be sung While an ear can hear a tongue.

He our feet establisheth; He our souls redeems from death.

Lord, as silver purified, Thou hast with affliction tried, Thou hast driven into the net, Burdens on our shoulders set.

Trod on by their horses' hooves, Theirs whom pity never moves, We through fire, with flames embraced, We through raging floods have pa.s.sed, Yet by thy conducting hand, Brought into a wealthy land.

CHAPTER IX.

A FEW OF THE ELIZABETHAN DRAMATISTS.

From the nature of their adopted mode, we cannot look for much poetry of a devotional kind from the dramatists. That mode admitting of no utterance personal to the author, and requiring the scope of a play to bring out the intended truth, it is no wonder that, even in the dramas of Shakspere, profound as is the teaching they contain, we should find nothing immediately suitable to our purpose; while neither has he left anything in other form approaching in kind what we seek. Ben Jonson, however, born in 1574, who may be regarded as the sole representative of learning in the cla.s.s, has left, amongst a large number of small pieces, three _Poems of Devotion_, whose merit may not indeed be great, but whose feeling is, I think, genuine. Whatever were his faults, and they were not few, hypocrisy was not one of them. His nature was fierce and honest. He might boast, but he could not pretend. His oscillation between the reformed and the Romish church can hardly have had other cause than a vacillating conviction. It could not have served any prudential end that we can see, to turn catholic in the reign of Elizabeth, while in prison for killing in a duel a player who had challenged him.

THE SINNER'S SACRIFICE.

1.--TO THE HOLY TRINITY.

O holy, blessed, glorious Trinity Of persons, still one G.o.d in Unity, The faithful man's believed mystery, Help, help to lift

Myself up to thee, harrowed, torn, and bruised By sin and Satan, and my flesh misused.

As my heart lies--in pieces, all confused-- O take my gift.

All-gracious G.o.d, the sinner's sacrifice, A broken heart, thou wert not wont despise, But, 'bove the fat of rams or bulls, to prize An offering meet

For thy acceptance: Oh, behold me right, And take compa.s.sion on my grievous plight!

What odour can be, than a heart contrite, To thee more sweet?

Eternal Father, G.o.d, who didst create This All of nothing, gav'st it form and fate, And breath'st into it life and light, with state To worship thee!

Eternal G.o.d the Son, who not deniedst To take our nature, becam'st man, and diedst, To pay our debts, upon thy cross, and criedst _All's done in me!_

Eternal Spirit, G.o.d from both proceeding, Father and Son--the Comforter, in breeding Pure thoughts in man, with fiery zeal them feeding For acts of grace!

Increase those acts, O glorious Trinity Of persons, still one G.o.d in Unity, Till I attain the longed-for mystery Of seeing your face,

Beholding one in three, and three in one, A Trinity, to shine in Union-- The gladdest light, dark man can think upon-- O grant it me,

Father, and Son, and Holy Ghost, you three, All co-eternal in your majesty, Distinct in persons, yet in unity One G.o.d to see;

My Maker, Saviour, and my Sanctifier, To hear, to mediate,[82] sweeten my desire, With grace, with love, with cherishing entire!

O then, how blest

Among thy saints elected to abide, And with thy angels placed, side by side!

But in thy presence truly glorified, Shall I there rest!

2.--AN HYMN TO G.o.d THE FATHER.

Hear me, O G.o.d!

A broken heart Is my best part: Use still thy rod, That I may prove Therein thy love.

If thou hadst not Been stern to me, But left me free, I had forgot Myself and thee.

For sin's so sweet As minds ill bent _that._ Rarely repent Until they meet Their punishment.

Who more can crave Than thou hast done?

Thou gay'st a Son

To free a slave, First made of nought, With all since bought.

Sin, death, and h.e.l.l His glorious name Quite overcame; Yet I rebel, And slight the same.

But I'll come in Before my loss Me farther toss, As sure to win Under his cross.

3.--AN HYMN ON THE NATIVITY OF MY SAVIOUR.

I sing the birth was born to-night, The author both of life and light; The angels so did sound it.

And like the ravished shepherds said, Who saw the light, and were afraid, Yet searched, and true they found it.

The Son of G.o.d, the eternal King, That did us all salvation bring, And freed the soul from danger; He whom the whole world could not take, The Word which heaven and earth did make, Was now laid in a manger.

The Father's wisdom willed it so; The Son's obedience knew no _No;_ Both wills were in one stature; And, as that wisdom had decreed, The Word was now made flesh indeed, And took on him our nature.

What comfort by him do we win, Who made himself the price of sin, To make us heirs of glory!

To see this babe, all innocence, A martyr born in our defence!-- Can man forget this story?