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And now, though late, the modest Rose
Did more than half a blush disclose.
Thus all look'd gay, all full of chear,
To welcom the New-livery'd year.

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H. W.

[VARIATIONS. 1. This day dame Nature'-A.-3. Fresh juice'-A.-7. Or else my Friend'-B C.-8. 'Did early watch the'-B C.-11. 'Already did the groue'-B C.-13. 'the ayre was mild'-B C.-14. 'The mornes were sweet, the meadows smil'd' -B C.-16. 'Sanded'-B. 'Sandied'-C.-18. 'She stroakes' -B C.-19. Both feild and garden'-B C.-20. ' With Crocus, Tulip'-B. Tulips'-A.-23, 'looks gay, and'-A. was gay'B C.]

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A TRANSLATION OF THE CIV. PSALM TO THE ORIGINAL SENSE.

[IN the letter in which Sir Henry Wotton announced to the King that he had taken Deacon's Orders (1627), he says, "if I can produce nothing else for the use of Church and State, yet it shall be comfort enough to the little remnant of my life, to compose some Hymns unto his endless glory, who hath called me (for which his Name be ever blessed), though late to his Service, yet early to the knowledge of his truth, and sense of his mercy." (Rel. Wotton. p. 329, ed. 1672.) As No. XIII. was written before that time, during one of his Venetian Embassies, this Psalm, and the Hymn written during sickness, (No. XIV.) are the only results of this design which we possess.

Lord Aston, who has inserted the translation among his "Select Psalms in Verse," (1811, p. 185,) calls it "the finest specimen" he has " met with of sacred poetry among our earlier authors."]

M

Y Soul, exalt the Lord with Hymns of Praise: O Lord, my God, how boundless is Thy might! [Glorious Rays, Whose Throne of State is cloath'd with And round about hast robe'd Thy self with Light: Who like a Curtain hast the Heavens display'd, And in the watry Roofs thy Chambers laid:

Whose Chariots are the thickned 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 didst 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 flie, and when they hear Thy thundering Voice, they post to do thy Will, And bound their furies in their proper Sphere;

Where surging Floods and valing Ebbs can tell,
That none beyond thy Marks must sink or swell.

Who hath dispos'd, but thou, the winding way

Where Springs down from the steepy crags do beat, At which both foster'd Beasts their Thirsts allay, And the wild Asses come to quench their heat; Where Birds resort, and, in their kind, thy praise Among the Branches chant in warbling lays?

* So eds. 1651 and 1654. In ed. 1672, 'this'—,

The Mounts are watred from thy dwelling place;
The Barns and Meads are fill'd for Man and Beast ;
Wine glads the Heart, and Oyl adorns the Face,

And bread the staff whereon our strength doth rest;
Nor shrubs alone feel thy sufficeing hand,
But even the Cedars that so proudly stand.

So have the Fowls their sundry seats to breed;
The ranging Stork in stately Beeches dwells;
The climing Goats on Hills securely feed;
The mining Coneys shroud in rocky Cells:

Nor can the Heavenly Lights their course forget,
The Moon her turns, or Sun his times to set.

Thou mak'st the Night to over-vail the Day:

Then savage Beasts creep from the silent Wood; Then Lions Whelps lie roaring for their Prey, And at thy powerful Hand demand their Food; Who when at Morn they all recouch again, Then toyling Man till Eve pursues his pain.

O Lord, when on thy various works we look,
How richly furnish'd is the Earth we tread!
Where, in the fair Contents of Nature's Book,
We may the Wonders of thy Wisdom read:

Nor Earth alone, but lo! the Sea so wide,
Where, great and small, a world of Creatures glide.

There go* the Ships that furrow out their way;
Yea, there of Whales enormous sights we see,

So eds. 1651 and 1654. In ed. 1672, it is misprinted, 'There go to the

Ships

Which yet have scope among the rest to play,
And all do wait for their support on Thee;
Who hast assign'd each thing his
proper food,
And in due season dost dispence Thy good.

They gather when Thy gifts thou dost divide;

Their stores abound, if Thou thy hand enlarge; Confus'd they are, when Thou thy beams dost hide; In dust resolv'd, if Thou their breath discharge; Again, when Thou of Life renew'st the seeds, The withered Fields revest their chearful weeds.

Be ever gloried here Thy Soveraign 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 smoak shall vade! For me, may (while I breath) both harp and voice In sweet indictment of thy Hymns rejoyce!

Let Sinners fail, let all Profaneness cease ;-
His Praise (my Soul) His Praise shall be thy Peace.
H. WOTTON.*

*H. W.' ed. 1654.

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