Of Jacob's land, though there be store,

And all within his care.

3 City of God, most glorious things Of thee abroad are spoke;

4 I mention Egypt, where proud kings Did our forefathers yoke.

I mention Babel to my friends,

Philistia full of scorn,

And Tyre with Ethiop's utmost ends,

Lo this man there was born:

5 But twice that praise shall in our ear
Be said of Sion last,

This and this man was born in her,
High God shall fix her fast.

6 The Lord shall write it in a scroll
That ne'er shall be out-worn,
When he the nations doth inroll,

That this man there was born.

7 Both they who sing, and they who dance,
With sacred songs are there,

In thee fresh brooks, and soft streams glance,
And all my fountains clear.

PSALM LXXXVIII.

1 LORD God, that dost me save and keep,
All day to thee I cry ;

And all night long before thee weep,
Before thee prostrate lie.

2 Into thy presence let my pray'r
With sighs devout ascend,

And to my cries, that ceaseless are,
Thine ear with favour bend.

3 For cloy'd with woes and trouble store
Surcharg'd my soul doth lie,

My life at death's uncheerful door
Unto the grave draws nigh.

4 Reckon'd I am with them that pass
Down to the dismal pit,

I am a man, but weak alas,

And for that name unfit.

5 From life discharg'd and parted quite
Among the dead to sleep,

And like the slain in bloody fight
That in the grave lie deep.
Whom thou rememberest no more,
Dost never more regard,

Them from thy hand deliver'd o'er
Death's hideous house hath barr'd.

6 Thou in the lowest pit profound

Hast set me all forlorn,

Where thickest darkness hovers round,

In horrid deeps to mourn.

7 Thy wrath, from which no shelter saves,
Full sore doth press on me,

Thou break'st upon me all thy waves,
And all thy waves break me.

8 Thou dost my friends from me estrange,
And mak'st me odious,

Me to them odious, for they change,
And I here pent up thus.

9 Through sorrow and affliction great,
Mine eye grows dim and dead,
Lord, all the day I thee intreat,
My hands to thee I spread.

10 Wilt thou do wonders on the dead,

Shall the deceas'd arise,

And praise thee from their loathsome bed

With pale and hollow eyes?

11 Shall they thy loving kindness tell
On whom the grave hath hold,

Or they who in perdition dwell,
Thy faithfulness unfold?

12 In darkness can thy mighty hand
Or wondrous acts be known,
Thy justice in the gloomy land

Of dark oblivion?

13 But I to thee, O Lord, do cry,

Ere yet my life be spent,

And up to thee my pray'r doth hie,

Each morn, and thee prevent.

14 Why wilt thou, Lord, my soul forsake, And hide thy face from me?

15 That am already bruis'd, and shake With terror sent from thee?

Bruis'd and afflicted, and so low

As ready to expire,

While I thy terrors undergo

Astonish'd with thine ire.

60

55

50

45

40

335

16 Thy fierce wrath over me doth flow,

Thy threat'nings cut me through: 17 All day they round about me go,

Like waves they me pursue.

18 Lover and friend thou hast remov'd,
And sever'd from me far:

They fly me now whom I have lov'd,
And as in darkness are.

65

70

A PARAPHRASE ON PSALM CXIV.*

5

WHEN the blest seed of Terah's faithful son,
After long toil their liberty had won,
And past from Pharian fields to Canaan land,
Led by the strength of the Almighty's hand,
Jehovah's wonders were in Israel shown,
His praise and glory was in Israel known.
That saw the troubled sea, and shivering fled,
And sought to hide his froth-becurled head
Low in the earth; Jordan's clear streams recoil,
As a faint host that hath receiv'd the foil.
The high, huge-bellied mountains skip like rams
Amongst their ewes, the little hills like lambs.
Why fled the ocean? And why skipt the mountains?
Why turned Jordan toward his crystal fountains?

10

* This and the following Psalm are Milton's earliest performances. Warton.

9 recoil] The rhymes probably from Sylvester's Du Bartas, p. 337. 'Ay Satan aims our constant faith to foil,

But God doth seal it, never to recoil.' Dunster.

Shake, Earth, and at the presence be aghast
Of him that ever was, and aye shall last,
That glassy floods from rugged rocks can crush,
And make soft rills from fiery flint-stones gush.

PSALM CXXXVI.

LET us with a gladsome mind
Praise the Lord, for he is kind:
For his mercies aye endure,

Ever faithful, ever sure.
Let us blaze his name abroad,

For of Gods he is the God:

For his, &c.

O let us his praises tell,

15

5

Who doth the wrathful tyrants quell:

10

For his, &c.

Who with his miracles doth make

For his, &c.

15

Amazed heaven and earth to shake:

Who by his wisdom did create

The painted heavens so full of state :

For his, &c.

Who did the solid earth ordain

To rise above the watery plain:

For his, &c.

17 crush] The rhymes from Sylvester's Du Bartas, p. 30. 'And so one humour doth another crush,

Till to the ground their liquid pearls do gush.' Dunster.

22 watery plain] P. L. i. 396.

'Rabba, and her watery plain! Todd.

20